Like Fragile Glass
by Shtuff
Summary: AU Episode II. He's a mess, broken and lost after too long in the dark. Now he just has to prove to the Council that he is worthy of the title of Jedi Knight once more. If only the woman he has to protect wasn't so stubborn...
1. Return of a Jedi

**Disclaimer: **All material belongs to George Lucas.

**Well, this has been quite a long time coming. This story is the first I ever wrote, though I can no longer read the original for long periods of time without suffering sudden and unexplainable bleeding from my eyes. So, I've been going back and rewriting it, bit by bit. Hopefully, it has improved since the original-which shall never see the light of day again, I guarantee. **

**Star Wars is a fandom that is dear to my heart, but I haven't spent time in it for quite awhile so it will take a bit to get reacquainted. If I miss anything, or make any glaring mistakes, feel free to point them out to me. And constructive criticism is always welcome, of course, as are any thoughts or feedback *coughREVIEWcough* ;D **

**NOTE: This is an AU of Episode II, so expect much plot twistage and some OOCness (which is intentional and will be explained at greater lengths throughout the duration of the story, I assure you.) and plot twistage of Episode I, as well, for the sake of backstory. Also, the beginning is a little vague, but rest assured that, too, will be explained in due time. Patience, you must have. ^_^**

**Anywho, speaking of patience, I'll shut up and let you read. **

* * *

It was sunrise on Coruscant.

The spires of the great city gleamed as bright as diamonds in the golden light of the morning. Far above, the sun stretched its fingertips across the sky, chasing away the last traces of night, and beneath the glow of its brilliant radiance Coruscant had already begun the day. The spaces lanes were crowded with traffic, creating a cacophony of noise—speeder horns blaring, drivers shouting back and forth to each other, and pedestrians bustling along the walkways, hurrying toward their various destinations at a frantic pace.

At the outskirts of the city, far away from the chaos, a man stood waiting on a lonely landing strip. A faint breeze stirred the hem of his brown robe and the tips of his neatly trimmed blond hair, causing him to pull the garments closer to his body in an attempt to ward off the cold. Shifting his weight from one booted foot to the other and running a hand across his bearded chin, the man frowned darkly. He'd been out in the cold morning air for hours and even his legendary patience was wearing thin.

How long did they expect him to wait?

Just as he was contemplating giving up on the whole endeavor and returning to the warmth and peace of the Jedi Temple, a dark shape appeared on the horizon and drew rapidly closer. Within seconds, the blur transformed into a transport ship and began to slow down in preparation for landing. The Jedi sighed in relief and gripped his cloak tightly, bowing his head under the forceful onslaught of wind created by the hovering craft. At last, the airship settled down onto the dock with a thud, rattling the ground beneath the man's feet. The ramp hissed in protest as it was lowered, and three figures emerged, descending at a clipped pace.

The Jedi held his breath—hardly able to believe this moment had come. He'd waited a year for this day. The first two figures approached him and nodded respectfully while still seeming perfectly aloof.

"Master Kenobi," the first Knight said in greeting, but the Obi-Wan barely paid him any attention. He only had eyes for the third traveler, who stood a few paces away and regarded the others with uncharacteristic hesitation and nervousness, clenching and unclenching one gloved hand while constantly shifting his weight and keeping blue eyes fixed firmly on the permacrete beneath his feet.

Brushing past his fellow Jedi, Obi-Wan approached the man swiftly, barely restraining himself from rushing forward and throwing his arms around him.. At last, he stood barely an arm's reach in front of the other Jedi and took a deep breath the steady himself, staring intently at the hooded head and down turned face, easily drawing conclusions about the other's emotional state from the body language he'd spent years learning to read.

A tense silence hovered between them, filled with everything they needed to say but couldn't. Finally Obi-Wan spoke in a whisper husky from dozens of conflicting emotions. "Anakin."

The single word was enough to drag the younger man's head up and blue eyes locked with gray. Anakin looked older, Obi-Wan realized instantly, and infinitely sadder, lacking all of his former strength and power. The jagged scar near his right eye stood out in angry red against skin several shades paler than Obi-Wan remembered, and the normally bright and vibrant blue eyes were a shadowed, subdued navy—twin wells void of all the emotion that used to fill them to the brim.

Obi-Wan swallowed, trying to return to some saliva to his dry mouth, and forced out another croaking sentence. "I'm … glad you're back, Anakin." All the awkward pauses didn't diminish his sincerity, and he was rewarded with the barest hint of a smile in the right corner of Anakin's mouth.

With slightly unsteady hands, the younger Jedi reached up and pushed the hood from his head, exposing dark blonde locks that stuck up in a slightly wild array, much longer than Obi-Wan remembered. A mere year ago, it had just been a fine dusting of blond fuzz barely covering Anakin's scalp. Yet another scar stood out on his former Padawan's face, bisecting his lip and crawling across his chin to his jaw and Obi-Wan's eyes riveted on it, remembering when it had bled so badly it washed Anakin's mouth and neck in crimson.

He shivered at the dark memory, willing it away. He needed to say something, _anything, _to break this oppressive silence, but not a single word would come to mind. Anakin coughed and looked at something just beyond Obi-Wan, refusing to make eye contact. His lips pressed together tightly, bleaching white, and dark eyebrows slanted downward in an expression that was both nervousness and frustration. The young Jedi looked ready to run at any moment and Obi-Wan struggled to find something he could offer to anchor his former Padawan in place.

But it was Anakin who finally spoke. "I'm … glad to be back." His voice was rough and scratchy from disuse and lacking all of the power Obi-Wan distinctly recalled. Anakin's voice used to roar like a mighty river, but now it was as soft and low as a babbling brook, holding notes of brokenness both new and painful.

Anakin looked as though he wanted to say more, but clamped his mouth shut and averted his gaze again—too afraid to voice his thoughts. Again, Obi-Wan was left to pick up the pieces. Sucking in a deep breath, the Jedi Master summoned up a strained smile. "Good. We should … get you back … to the Temple. The Council … is waiting."

Anakin visibly flinched at the mention of the Council, but offered no protest. "Okay."

There was nothing left to say, so Obi-Wan turned and began to walk toward the shuttle resting at the far end of the vast strip, trusting Anakin and his escorts would follow. The sound of footsteps behind him offered only a little reassurance. It was a stranger shadowing him, not the Padawan he'd known for the past thirteen years, and it could take another lifetime to reestablish the bond that had been so brutally severed.

The shuttle suddenly loomed before him, and with numb fingers, Obi-Wan keyed in the entry code and climbed aboard, collapsing onto one of the plush seats. Anakin perched stiffly on the seat opposite him, staring out the window with unfocused eyes.

The other Jedi found seats at the back of the shuttle and kept silent, understanding the emotional nature of this reunion and the privacy it required.

As the small craft rose into the air and began its flight to the Jedi Temple, Obi-Wan leaned forward in his seat, clasping his hands between his knees, and carefully regarded the man opposite him in a desperate attempt to gauge his thoughts and emotions. Anakin seemed aware of the scrutiny but kept his face carefully indifferent in a mask so strong even Obi-Wan couldn't penetrate it.

Feeling frustrated, the Jedi Knight focused his attention on the chaotic flow of traffic on all sides, watching colorful speeders execute maneuvers that would put some fighter pilots to shame. It was a perfect distraction from Anakin and the gaze he could feel boring into his face. Anakin was trying to study him, as well, but Obi-Wan was also an expert at wearing masks and his search was futile.

"What … does the Council want?" Anakin's voice surprised him, and he pulled his eyes away from the window to the blue orbs regarding him diffidently. There was _fear _in them, and cold shock washed over Obi-Wan at the discovery. Anakin was afraid of the Council, perhaps even _terrified, _and Obi-Wan couldn't understand how such a thing was possible. The boy he remembered hadn't been afraid of anything.

But that boy had died a long time ago, and the man in his place was so vastly different it constantly threw Obi-Wan off balance.

He struggled to recover from this new shift and answer the hesitant—_fearful—_question. "Not much. They just want to make sure you've … recovered fully."

Anakin looked skeptical, arching one eyebrow in an echo of his former self, though the expression lacked the arrogance that had once defined it. "That's … all?"

Obi-Wan nodded, a frown beginning to pull at the corners of his mouth. "They're not going to throw you in prison, Anakin."

Anakin looked toward the window, and the now dazzling morning light threw his face into shadows. "They should."

The two words sliced into Obi-Wan like a lightsaber, and he winced involuntarily. "Anakin…"

Anakin still kept his eyes on the skyline, but Obi-Wan could see the muscles bulge in his jaw as he clenched it tightly. "Don't bother denying it. You know it's true."

The frown gained complete control of Obi-Wan's face. "No, it's not. It isn't true and it isn't right. It's not what the Jedi do."

"Then they should have exiled me." The quiet conviction in Anakin's voice surprised him, and for a moment there was nothing he could think to say. Anakin was _right. _The Council should have exiled him—or _executed _him—for the heinous crimes he'd committed. Crimes unlike anything seen since the Great Sith Wars over four thousand years ago.

Yet they hadn't, for reasons Obi-Wan still didn't understand, but he was glad. No matter what Anakin had done, Obi-Wan preferred to have him close by rather than marooned on some distant planet, wasting his life away in solitude. And though this broken shell of a human being was nothing like his former Padawan, he firmly believed the fiery youth he remembered was still there, buried beneath all the layers of guilt and shame.

It was the only hope he had.

"Perhaps you're right," Obi-Wan finally admitted, noting the way surprise danced across Anakin's face briefly before fading behind the mask. "But, the point is that they didn't. This is your second chance, Anakin. You should make the most of it."

"Still lecturing, I see," Anakin quipped, but there was amusement in his voice where there had once been annoyance, and Obi-Wan's heart lightened at the ghost of a smile on Anakin's lips.

He summoned up his own smile and shrugged casually. "Of course. I have four years of lectures to make up for."

Anakin rolled his eyes, but the smile grew. "Great. I'll be sure to avoid you, then. A year of lectures from Master Tholme is enough to last a lifetime."

Obi-Wan felt a chuckle well in his throat and bit his lip to keep it locked inside. "Yes, he does give remarkable lectures."

Anakin shook his head and said with great seriousness, "No one can lecture like you, Master."

Obi-Wan froze, startled by the use of the a title. It felt wrong, hearing it from Anakin now. The honorific belonged in the past, buried beside the boy who had been his Padawan. "Obi-Wan…."

Anakin's smile vanished, replaced by a puzzled frown. "What?"

Obi-Wan brushed a few pieces of imaginary lint from his cloak and avoided eye contact. "Call me Obi-Wan. You're not my Padawan anymore."

He could sense Anakin withdraw, pulling back into himself at the slight rebuke, and felt a surge of frustration as the small progress they'd made was lost. There wasn't time to fix things, however. The Jedi Temple loomed before the shuttle as it began its descent toward one of the many landing platforms. Out the window, Obi-Wan caught sight of Shaak Ti standing alone on the platform, waiting for them. Anakin noticed the Jedi Master, as well, and his shoulders drooped further in weary defeat while a slight tremor took hold of his good hand in a blatant display of anxiety.

"Anakin…." Obi-Wan murmured, stunned at the force of Anakin's reaction.

Anakin gave him a bitter smile. "I killed her Padawan, you know. She saw…." He trailed off and flinched, focusing his gaze on the ground as his left hand shook.

Obi-Wan bit his lip, but kept quiet. There was simply nothing he could say.

The shuttle landed gently and the doors opened with a loud hiss. The two Jedi in the back rose from their seats and departed with a bow, greeting the waiting Jedi Master before vanishing into the recesses of the Temple hanger. With a deep breath, Obi-Wan stood and took a step toward Anakin, fighting off the urge to place his hand on his former Padawan's shoulder. The gesture would only push the younger Knight further away.

"Ready?"

Anakin laughed—a hollow sound—and rose. "No," he whispered, sparing once last glance at Shaak Ti. "But I don't think I'll ever be."

For what felt like the hundredth time, Obi-Wan found himself at a loss for words. To combat the awkward uncertainty plaguing him, he drew his Jedi reserve around him like a cloak and exited the ship, focusing on Shaak Ti instead of the heavy footfalls behind him.

"Master Ti." He greeted the Togruta with a low bow. "It's good to see you again."

Shaak Ti smiled in response. "Likewise, Obi-Wan. Though you've only been gone for the morning."

Obi-Wan felt a blush rise on his cheeks and coughed to hide his embarrassment, realizing for the first time how distracted he was by Anakin's return.

_But don't I have the right? _

Shaak Ti's eyes left him and the smile slid from her face as she rested her gaze Anakin. The young Knight froze, caught in the grip of flight or fight instinct, and swiftly bowed low, almost dropping to his knees in his haste. Obi-Wan blinked in surprise as he witnessed yet another disquieting contrast between past and present. Anakin Skywalker had once never bowed to anyone, even when he should have.

"Master Ti," Anakin whispered, hanging his head in what appeared to be shame.

Shaak Ti stood still for a long moment, letting her eyes sweep over Anakin, cataloging all the changes—visible and hidden—in the Jedi Knight. At last, her face slowly relaxed into a smile and she took two steps forward, then carefully laid her hands on Anakin's shoulders and pulled him upright. Anakin made eye contact hesitantly but when he saw her warm, open expression, his eyes widened in disbelief.

"I'm glad you're back, Anakin Skywalker," Shaak Ti said, still gripping Anakin's shoulders. "It's been a long time."

Anakin blinked at her in confusion and amazement. "Master Ti … I … I … you can't possibly …."

The Togruta shook her head and placed a finger on his lips, silencing him. "I always knew you'd come home. Now, we should go. The Council is waiting."

Anakin's mouth opened and closed twice, but no words emerged, and finally he clamped his lips together and nodded, trying to gather the remaining shreds of his composure. Obi-Wan glanced sideways at him, unable to even imagine what emotions might be churning through him. He wished he could comfort his old Padawan, but he'd never been good at affection, or soothing away hurt. That had been Qui-Gon's specialty. So, he stood helpless and unsure of how to ease some of Anakin's turmoil, even when Anakin shot him a glance that held a pleading request: "_Tell me what to do." _

_ I'm sorry, Anakin. I can't. _

It was Shaak Ti who immediately took on the role of comforter, easily wrapping an arm around Anakin's shoulders and telling him about everything he'd missed as though the last four years had never happened and he had only been gone on a routine mission. Gradually, Anakin began to relax and respond in short, halting answers to the Jedi Master's questions about his health and training under Master Tholme.

"He's a fine Jedi, Anakin. It's wonderful that he agreed to teach you."

"Yes…"

At last, the trio reached the doors of the Jedi Council room, and all traces of levity vanished like vapor in the wind. Anakin's face paled several shades, and the tremor resumed in his left hand, forcing him to press the appendage against his side to mask the shaking. Shaak Ti graced him with one last sympathetic smile before the doors slid open and Master Yoda beckoned them in.

Shaak Ti took her place in the circle as Anakin stopped at its center, and Obi-Wan stood at his shoulder, offering what minimal support he could. The twelve Masters all kept their gazes focused solely on Anakin—well-trained eyes crumbling every wall he had erected until they could see straight into his soul. For his part, Anakin tried to remain calm under the weight of such overwhelming scrutiny, hiding his shaking hand in the sleeve of his cloak, and keeping his eyes on the Coruscanti skyline beyond the tall windows surrounding the chamber.

Master Yoda suddenly broke the stillness. "Happy, I am, that returned you have. A long road it has been. And over yet, it is not. But changed, you have." He leaned forward and regarded Anakin with wise eyes. Anakin avoided his stare. "Darkness I still sense in you. But yes, changed you have."

Anakin bowed slightly. "Thank you, Master Yoda."

"As you know, we have decided to grant you clemency for the crimes committed while under the influence of the Sith." Mace Windu sounded anything but pleased at the Council's decision, and Anakin tried hard not flinch when the Jedi Master's cold eyes met his own. Obi-Wan noted Anakin's distress and shifted a little closer to him, brushing his shoulder against Anakin's in silent support.

Anakin licked his chapped lips and nodded at Master Windu. "Yes, I understand, Master. I am very thankful for the Council's mercy."

"Don't thank us yet, Knight Skywalker," Disapproval was clear in Plo Koon's distorted voice. "You are going to be kept under observation and are not allowed to leave this Temple unless granted permission from the Council."

"Tholme spoke highly of you," Ki-Adi Mundi added. "But we wish to make sure that you will remain true to the path of redemption and not fall back into darkness. There will be several assessments to judge your physical ability and state of mind."

Anakin didn't seem pleased by the demands, but he nodded his assent. "I understand, Masters. I will comply with whatever the Jedi Council wishes."

"You are dismissed, Skywalker." Mace indicated the door with a wave of his hand. "Wait outside and a Knight will show you to your new quarters, which will be adjacent to Obi-Wan's."

Anakin bowed once more. "Yes, Master Windu." He straightened and looked expectantly at Obi-Wan, waiting for his former Master to accompany him.

Obi-Wan took a step toward Anakin, ready to help his old friend get settled, but Mace's voice stopped him. "No, Obi-Wan, you stay. There are some private matters we wish to discuss with you."

Obi-Wan frowned and turned back to the Council, pretending not to see Anakin's disappointed expression. "Of course, Master Windu."

He heard Anakin's retreating footsteps and the door hiss shut behind him, leaving Obi-Wan alone in the center of the room. Almost instantly, some of the tension and hostility drained from the chamber, fleeing with Anakin's presence. Watching the masters relax their guarded postures, Obi-Wan felt a wave of barely suppressed anger. Did Anakin truly bother them so much? Yes, he had done horrible, terrible things, but they hadn't watched him fall on a black slope of ash or angry fire almost consume him.

_No… _Obi-Wan blocked out the painful memories, clinging desperately to his Jedi serenity.

_There is no emotion, there is peace. _

"Obi-Wan," Mace Windu began. "How has your time with Skywalker been so far?"

Obi-Wan frowned and struggled to put all the emotions and thoughts of the morning into words. "It went … well, all things considering. He showed no signs of hostility. Everything was … fine."

The minute he said it, he knew it was a lie. Things weren't _fine._ There were four years of heartache, anger, and bitterness that could not be forgotten, and burned like the lava of Mustafar, damaging every glance, every smile, and every word that passed between them.

Things weren't fine and they probably never would be again.

Mace's eyebrows reached an impressive height on his forehead. "I see."

"He just needs time," Obi-Wan insisted. "He's been through so much."

"And he's put the Order through a great deal, as well," Ki-Adi Mundi commented dryly.

"I know!" Obi-Wan snapped, losing control for a brief instant. As soon as the words left his mouth, his eyes widened in mortification and he rushed to correct his mistake. "I apologize, Master Mundi. That was out of line."

"Dwell on young Skywalker's past, we should not," Master Yoda interjected sternly. "Focus on his future we need to. A dangerous path, he walks. Long. Difficult. Need help, he will, and support, not blame."

A murmur of agreement ran through the room as every Master yielded to Yoda's wisdom. Satisfied that all arguments were finished, the diminutive Master resumed the meeting. "Responsible for Anakin, you will be, Obi-Wan. Closest to him, you are, and help him, only you can. Needs you he does."

Obi-Wan nodded grimly. "I will be there. I promise." He said it not just for the Jedi Council but for the friend who couldn't hear him and desperately needed someone to save him from drowning.

_I promise, Anakin. I will never let you fall again. _

"Report back to us on his progress," Mace said. "And keep an eye out for any signs of disturbance."

Once again, Obi-Wan reigned his emotions, unwilling to let his love for Anakin cloud his judgment. It had happened in the past and the price was heavy. "Yes, Master Windu."

"Good." Yoda seemed pleased by the determination in Obi-Wan's voice. "Dismissed, you are, Master Kenobi."

With a final bow, Obi-Wan hurried from the Council Room and into the halls of the vast Jedi Temple, relieved to leave the Masters and their penetrating eyes behind. Instead of dwelling on the tense meeting, he focused on the tremendous task at hand. Somehow, he had to pick up all the scattered, broken pieces of Anakin Skywalker and fit them back together again. Somehow, he had to bring his former Padawan back to life. It would be harder than even their last, furious battle, but he was willing to try.

He _had_ to try.

Anakin needed him to.

* * *

**Extra Notes: **

Master Tholme: In canon he is the former Master of Quinlan Vos and fought in many important battles during the Clone Wars. He survived the Purges and went on to live a relatively peaceful life with his lover in exile. He was also the mastermind behind Quinlan becoming a Republic spy, which backfired spectacularly. Anyway, little is known about his whereabouts after Quinlan became a Jedi Knight. He wandered a bit, helped Quinlan regain his memory, trained Aayla Secura for a time, and fought in a failure of a duel with Dooku. I digress. After reading his biography, I got the impression of a somewhat unconventional Jedi, so I thought I would borrow him and give him a role "re-training" Jedi who have fallen or had brushes with the Dark Side (more on that later). :D Hopefully, this doesn't greatly offend anyone.

If you would like more information on him or to cool pictures simply look him up at starwars(dot)wikia(dot)com under Tholme.


	2. There Is No Emotion

**Hello all! Thank you for the support so far! Here is the second chapter. It's a little more on the transitionary side. The real plottage will pick up next chapter. It is still on the very vague side, but I do promise everything will be explained in due time. :D **

**Enjoy, and if you have any questions feel free to PM me. **

**And review, if you can spare the time. **

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The halls of the Jedi Temple were bathed in shadow and pools of moonlight—peaceful and eerie and somehow comforting. Anakin moved through them quietly, driven to pointless wandering by the ghosts that haunted his dreams. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw all the faces that had died beneath his blade and the drumbeat of sorrow and guilt sometimes grew too heavy to bear.

So he walked.

His feet carried him to the highest spires of the Temple—to an observation deck he had spent many post-mission hours in, sometimes alone, sometimes with Obi-Wan at his side. He sank onto the bench without really registering the action, too caught up in the brilliant lights of Coruscant that shone in a thousand different colors. He'd missed them, despite his earlier conviction that he never would.

When he had walked out of the Jedi Temple, he had believed many things wouldn't be missed. He'd been wrong, just as he had been about everything else. So he sat and watched the lights gleam and tried not to remember. Remembering meant stepping outside of the numb shell he had crafted for himself and submitting to the cruel storm of his emotions.

He knew the Council could sense the turmoil raging within him. Over the past month he had been submitted to more psychological examinations than he cared to count. Each session had left him feeling flayed open and terribly vulnerable—not unlike he had with his former master during his training. The brutal feeling made him wonder about the differences between the Jedi and the Sith, and a pang of instant regret surged through him. He should never—could never—compare the two. These tests were for his own good and he _owed _it to the Jedi. He should have been executed upon his surrender to the Order and yet they had somehow managed to grant him mercy.

A part of him that he refused to acknowledge wished they _hadn't. _

Things were much easier when you were dead.

Anakin shivered and buried his head in his hands, feeling warm skin and cold metal against this face. He shouldn't be thinking these kinds of things. Jedi _never _contemplated suicide or longed for death.

But he wasn't exactly a Jedi anymore, was he?

Shaking, the former Sith pushed himself off the bench and paced the length of the room, struggling to get a firm handle on his emotions. He couldn't let too many of them leak past his shields or he would wake every single Jedi with the strength of the pain and shame and guilt tearing him apart. He couldn't let them know he wanted to die—would rather succumb to it than suffer through this parody of redemption, reaching for a goal he could never achieve. No matter what he did, the blood would never wash off his soul, and all those friends, Padawans, Masters, and Knights would never come back.

_Stop it, Skywalker. _

He sighed, let out the pain with the exhalation, focusing instead on the dancing Coruscanti lights—allowing them to calm him. Numb, he needed to be numb. It was the key to peace, to safety, to keeping from tearing himself apart.

A presence flared in his mind, coursing along the bond that was slowly rebuilding itself out of the ashes of Mustafar. Anakin cringed, fighting the sudden urge to flee. Apparently, his shields hadn't been strong enough.

"Anakin?" Obi-Wan's voice echoed from the turbolift, sounding awake and very alarmed.

_Kriff. _

He didn't turn around—unable to face the concern he knew he would find on Obi-Wan's face. "Hello, Ma—Obi-Wan." He flinched, inwardly berating himself for his almost slip. Obi-Wan had made it very clear he no longer wanted to hear the word "master" from Anakin's lips—which hurt more than he allowed himself to acknowledge—and the last thing he wanted was to upset the man who had given up so much for him.

A hand brushed his back hesitantly, nearly sending him darting away with surprise, as Obi-Wan's face appeared in the glass beside his own blank one. "Are you alright? I sensed a disturbance…."

"I'm fine," Anakin cut him off in hopes of avoiding the awkward, stumbling conversation that was sure to follow. It had been over a month and they still hadn't figured out how to speak to each other .

Obi-Wan promptly went into Concerned-But-Stern-Master-Mode. "No, you're not, Anakin. I can _feel _your pain, and our bond is…"

"A mess? Destroyed?" Anakin supplied helpfully, trying to ignore the bitterness that had unintentionally slipped out with the words.

Obi-Wan grimaced. "I was going to say 'weakened.'"

A scoff punched its way free from Anakin's lips. "You don't have to sugarcoat it, Obi-Wan."

Ob-Wan frowned and the tight, condescending expression was so familiar it ached. He almost expected the words, _"Now, Padawan" _to spill from his former master's mouth, but instead fingers curled into his tunic sleeve and tugged forcefully, pulling him momentarily off balance.

"I can still _feel _you, Anakin," Obi-Wan admonished when Anakin gaped at him. "More than you realize, I imagine. I know what you've been considering."

Anakin cringed. He definitely should have fled at the first sign of Obi-Wan. This conversation was becoming too personal far too quickly, and he found himself retreating to the defensive—a position he had always hated. "Are you _prying _now?"

"You're like a bleeding wound in the Force, Anakin!" Obi-Wan cried. "You think you're fooling the Council, but we all see. We know you want to die."

Hearing it put in such plain terms caused long-dead anger to stir, rising up to twist Anakin's words. "So kill me! Kill me and let me pay for my crimes!"

Obi-Wan's lips parted in shock and he paled as though struck—fingers loosening so Anakin could wrench himself free. The former Sith quickly backed up a few steps, putting some distance between them. He hated the stunned expression on his old master's face, but there was no room for lies anymore. Lies and avoided conversations were what had brought them here.

"Is that … really how you feel?" Obi-Wan managed at last, pulling Jedi reserve around him, and Anakin despised it.

"Yes," he grit out. His stupid left hand was trembling again and he tucked it into his sleeve, wishing darkly that Obi-Wan had just cut off both and been done with it. Metal didn't shake. "Why are we doing this, Obi-Wan? What's the point? Over a month of tests and languishing here in a Temple where I am not wanted. The Council and the Masters pretend to be merciful but I know the truth: they want me to die. I deserve to die. So let me die and appease them!"

Anakin whirled away after the quiet tirade, once again unable to see Obi-Wan's response, and rested his head on the cool transparisteel of the window. Force, he didn't want to do this. Any of it. It hurt too much and not enough, and their compassion terrified him because he was no longer used to it.

"Anakin…" Obi-Wan murmured and the broken tone stabbed like a knife. The hand returned—this time resting tenderly on his shoulder. The touch burned and soothed all at once. "Anakin, you think too little of the Jedi. They do not believe in petty revenge. But wounds like these take time to heal, and it has only been a month. You are as impatient as ever."

"No," Anakin whispered. "Impatience implies that I'm waiting for something. I have no right to wait for forgiveness. I don't even have the right to ask for it."

He was surprised once again when Obi-Wan spun him around and gave him a forceful shake. "Enough." Like always, his tone left no room for argument. "You must pull yourself out of this pit of despair and self-pity! The Anakin Skywalker I knew never gave up."

"The Anakin Skywalker you knew is dead." Anakin paused before forcing out the name that felt like acid on his tongue. "Vader killed him." Obi-Wan frowned, but didn't speak as Anakin shook his head. "And _you _killed Vader." A bitter, melancholy laugh. "So what does that make me? A shell?"

"A new beginning," Obi-Wan insisted.

Anakin rolled his eyes. "Spare me the poetry, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan's frown increased the age lines on his face that Anakin didn't remember seeing before he left. "It's true, Anakin. You have been given a great opportunity. Do not waste it."

Anakin found the lecturing too much to bear and shut himself down quickly, sealing off any inner doors he might have opened to Obi-Wan before brushing past his stunned former master. "I don't feel like a lecture right now, _Master." _

He tried to convince himself that he didn't feel guilty at the echoes of hurt and shock washing over him through their bond as the door hissed shut behind him, leaving Obi-Wan behind as always.

* * *

_His skin is on fire. _

_ He can smell his own flesh burning—a sickly sweet smell that makes him nauseous, and he would throw up if his mouth wasn't so occupied with screaming. The screams are scraping his throat raw, searing his vocal chords in their haste to escape. He wants to stop, but he can't. This is beyond him, finished and done and never-ending, and he can't change it or fix it or will it away. _

_ He will exist on this slope forever, trapped by greedy flames. _

_ Still, the instincts are there, and so his hand scrabbles for purchase even though his mind knows it's futile. The soil is as hot as the fire, scalding his flesh and crumbling away beneath his blackened fingertips. He won't find any leverage here. Below, the lava stretches out like a gaping maw, ready to devour him, and above a shadowy figure stands like a god clad in dirty white, ready to condemn. _

_ It's toward that figure he reaches. Damnation or salvation. Which will it be? He knows the answer and doesn't, because he's lived this before and each time is different and the same. _

_ This time. This time, the figures turns and staggers away, up the steep embankment. There are parting words of love and despair, laced with the brutal finality of good-bye. He wants to scream for mercy because this isn't how it's supposed to go. _

_ There are supposed to be helping hands and a gentle smile that isn't quite forgiveness but the start of _something, _at least. _

_ But no, Obi-Wan is leaving him. Like he should have. Like he does so often in all the twisted replays of this scene. Each time he walks away, it hurts just like the first, and Anakin can feel the knives cutting into him. _

_ "Obi-Wan…" _Stay, _he tries to say, and maybe even _I'm sorry, _too, but nothing comes out beyond the name. There is nothing left of his vocal chords and the fire is crawling up his back and his arms and over his shoulders, and now the flames are licking at his face. _

_ He can't see anything but fire and in the fire are the faces of everyone he's killed, everyone who died by Vader's unforgiving hand. He can't cry or scream, only burn. _

_ And Obi-Wan, with tears painting his cheeks, walks away. _

_ He dies on that fiery slope.

* * *

_

_ Crack!_

_Anakin jerked awake at the sharp sting blossoming in his left cheek—eyes flying open to meet Obi-Wan's concerned ones. His throat felt raw and rough, like he had been screaming, and judging from Obi-Wan's haggard features, that probably wasn't far from the truth. He fought the urge to sigh and bury his face in his pillow._

It'd been a year and two months. One would think the nightmares would have all played out.

"Anakin?" Right, Obi-Wan. Anakin wearily lifted his head from the pillow to regard his worried former master. It was strange seeing Obi-Wan's emotion so raw and exposed, missing the normal Jedi control. His screams really must have been unsettling for the other man to be reacting so violently.

"'M okay," he mumbled, rubbing a hand over his bleary eyes. "Just a dream."

Obi-Wan rocked back on his heels, allowing Anakin room to sit up. When Anakin got the remaining traces of sleep from his eyes, he noticed Obi-Wan's furrowed brow and skeptical frown and knew he was in for yet another verbal sparring match. Because Obi-Wan was going to pry and Anakin was never going to let him find out that he dreamt of being abandoned to death by fire every night.

"That seemed like much more than just a dream." And battle commence.

Anakin shrugged. "Nightmare, then."

"What about?" Obi-Wan asked cautiously.

Anakin leveled a dark stare in his direction. "Someone hijacked my favorite speeder," he deadpanned and got a little satisfaction from the surprise that danced briefly across Obi-Wan's face. Point, Anakin.

"Now, why don't I believe that?" Obi-Wan asked in an equally flat tone.

Anakin shrugged again, glancing away from Obi-Wan's accusing gaze. He was giving ground, but too tired to care much. Obi-Wan leaned forward, following him in an attempt to reestablish eye contact, but he stubbornly kept his face turned to the side, knowing his eyes would give away the pain that was trying seep past his shields.

He could still feel the fire on his skin.

"Anakin?" Obi-Wan said again, dragging him back into reality. He suppressed another shiver, and played with the blankets still twisted around him.

"I'm fine, Obi-Wan. Go back to sleep."

To his surprise, Obi-Wan's hand closed around his arm, pulling him out of the bed gently. Anakin still fought panic, wondering blindly if he was going to be punished for crossing some unseen line. Instead, he found himself pushed onto the couch and a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He clutched at it instinctively, remembering that this was _Obi-Wan _and Obi-Wan had never laid a hand on him … except for Mustafar.

"No, I can't sleep, anyway. I'll make us some tea." Anakin opened his mouth to protest, but Obi-Wan's raised hand pulled him up short. "Relax, Anakin, you don't have to talk about it if you do not want to. Though I do wish you would refrain from lying." Anakin flinched at the mild accusation and buried himself deeper in the blanket, hating that he was so transparent.

Obi-Wan vanished into the small kitchenette and Anakin heard sounds of him moving around getting together the tea. The noise was almost comforting, but he soon found himself sinking back into his dream world, feeling the fire dance across his skin again. He rubbed his arms unconsciously, teeth worrying away at his bottom lip. The fire just wouldn't go out and—

"Anakin."

He blinked himself back into reality, staring at the steaming mug hovering in front of his face. With a quiet hum of thanks, he pulled his bad hand free from the blanket and carelessly clutched the cup, barely feeling the heat and ignoring Obi-Wan's disapproving frown. His former master refrained from commenting, though—a wise choice, in Anakin's opinion—and merely sank onto the opposite end of the couch with his own mug carefully cradled in his hands. Anakin took a large gulp of the tea, relishing the burn on his tongue and throat. It kept his mind off more … _unpleasant _things. Again, Obi-Wan chose to watch with pointed silence and frowns.

For a long time heavy silence settled over the apartment, full of tension and weighted by a thousand unspoken things. To his own surprise, it was Anakin who first broke beneath the strain.

"Mustafar," he muttered into his cup, sensing Obi-Wan start beside him and swing his piercing gaze away from the wall to the side of his face. "It was Mustafar." The name sounded like acid on his tongue, and he washed away the bitterness with another swig of tea.

"I see," Obi-Wan answered in a too-neutral tone.

"You left," Anakin continued and flinched, swearing inwardly. He hadn't meant to say that out loud. Obi-Wan's eyes widened and he wanted to somehow stuff the admission back in his stupid mouth that was always running without his permission.

"What?" Obi-Wan's fingers tightened on his cup, and Anakin shrunk back from the force of his gaze—instincts warring with the sense that the emotions in Obi-Wan's eyes had nothing to do with his actions.

"You left," he repeated in a whisper, and if he wasn't careful he would crack the mug from the strength of his grip. "You walked away. I burned to death. In the dream." He wasn't sure why he felt the need to clarify, but tacking the last part on made everything seem more bearable, somehow.

Obi-Wan couldn't seem to find the proper response, and it was the first time in years Anakin had seen his poised master absolutely speechless. He would have relished the image under different circumstances, now it only bit like vibroblades against his already bleeding heart.

"I didn't leave." Obi-Wan's tone was fierce when the words finally came, and Anakin was momentarily taken aback by the amount of exposed emotion. Maybe Jedi reserve stopped working at three in the morning.

"I know," he replied quietly, forcing himself to focus and not give in to his shock over Obi-Wan's strange behavior. "But I thought you were going to."

When Obi-Wan was knocked back into silence Anakin cursed himself again. This was something they had avoided discussing with every ounce of willpower they had—for this very reason. The wounds were deep and fresh, still bleeding, and Mustafar was the one thing left that could rip them open wider. Neither of them were ready, but here they were—because of his stupid tendency to speak before his brain could catch up.

He jerked when Obi-Wan set his mug down on the table with a soft bang and rose to his feet, turning to face the couch with blazing eyes. "You think so little of me that you believe I would have let you burn to death?" There was a quiet storm in his voice, and Anakin cringed again, but he had promised himself there would be no more lies.

"You had every right to."

"That doesn't change anything, Anakin. I _never _would have walked away. I'm not that cruel!"

Anakin's gaze fell back to the mug in order to escape the hurt and accusation written all over his former master's face. But Obi-Wan wasn't going to let him run. Fingers suddenly grasped his chin and gently tugged his face back up, holding on even when he recoiled. The eyes that bore into his were weary and broken, but still so compassionate—and he couldn't understand _why. _

"You were wrong," Obi-Wan whispered. "So very wrong, Anakin. But you were also lost. I saw that in you, on Mustafar. I saw pieces of the boy I used to know, and that was enough. All those who are lost can be found again, Anakin. That is what I believe, and that is why I saved you."

Anakin pulled his chin free, but didn't avert his gaze. "Do you still believe that?"

"I do." There was no doubt in words, and Anakin felt a little of the vice grip on his heart ease, though he couldn't find the words to respond, so the room fell quiet once again.

After a long moment of this silence, Obi-Wan sighed and stepped back, resuming his position on the couch. "You should get some sleep."

Anakin was planning on protesting, but his eyelids suddenly felt heavy—his whole body relaxed as though he was soaking in a hot spring. "I can't…" he trailed off, wondering why he felt foggy and sluggish.

Obi-Wan's hand rested on his arm, guiding him back against the couch pillows and readjusting the blanket. "I put a little something in your tea to help."

_Oh. _But he was too tired to feel much betrayal, using the last of his energy for a frustrated glare. "Sneak…"

"You haven't slept in weeks, Anakin. Any more of this and those circles under your eyes will be permanent. Just relax and let yourself rest. It will help."

Anakin struggled to mount one last protest, but the words wouldn't form and his lips felt numb, his eyelids like they were made of lead. With a stuttered sigh, he drifted off into darkness—the warmth of someone's hand on his forehead.

* * *

"Attack me!"

"No!" Anakin shouted in response, dodging a well-aimed swing from Obi-Wan's lightsaber and retreating further across the training room floor. Overhead in the viewing balcony, several Council Members had gathered to watch—solemn shadows in their dark robes.

Anakin flipped backwards to avoid another attack from Obi-Wan, landing with both feet Force-anchored to the back wall. Obi-Wan stared at him incredulously, but Anakin ignored him in favor of jumping over his head, trying not to picture Obi-Wan's lightsaber coming up and cutting cleanly through his arm and leg.

There was no heat, no lava, no pain, and Obi-Wan was merely gawking at him as his feet touched the floor clear on the other side of the room.

"What _are _you doing, Anakin?" his baffled former master asked as he stood and settled back into a defensive position. The tone was condescendingly familiar, the question one that had been asked at least a thousand times over the course of their time together, but never with quite as much confusion or caution lurking beneath it.

"I'm dodging," Anakin fired back. "I thought that would have been clear, or have you gone blind in old age?"

The words were more biting than he had intended, but his left hand was shaking again and sweat slicked the hilt of the lightsaber. He could _feel _the Masters' eyes on him, boring holes into his back, and all he wanted was for the ground to split apart and swallow him into oblivion.

He also ignored the fact that the dragon was stirring in his chest, rattling against its chains and roaring at him to _attack _and _defend himself _and _prove _to these _arrogant fools _that he was no _coward. _

Which is exactly why he _wasn't _attacking.

"I can assure you, Anakin, that my eyesight is perfectly intact." Obi-Wan bit back. "What I am curious about is your sudden unwillingness to attack when before your greatest problem was not knowing when to _stop _attacking."

Anakin twirled his lightsaber idly, eyes on Obi-Wan's blade resting almost serenely by his side. The dragon roared again and Anakin winced, certain the Masters up in the balcony had sensed _that. _Obi-Wan's eyes widened at the spike of anxiety and fear that tore through their bond, and before Anakin could offer any explanation, he shook his head grimly.

"I see."

"I'm fine," Anakin insisted a little desperately. Stupid, perceptive Obi-Wan.

"You hardly _feel _fine," Obi-Wan countered. "I had no idea this was still such a problem for you."

Anakin grit his teeth in annoyance. When said like that, with _that _particular tone, it seemed like the monster, the darkness, churning within him was equivalent to a droid malfunction or a broken speeder he couldn't fix. He had hoped that his future and maybe his _soul _would be a little more _important _to the man who had given up so much to save him.

The dragon roared in agreement, and Anakin flinched again, realizing the anger that was burning like a furnace in his chest. His furnace heart, which he had managed to stamp down to embers over the past three months, was back.

_No. _

With a deep, shuddering breath, Anakin reached out to the Force, drowning out the dragon's roars, the heat of the fire, and depth of the greedy darkness. He breathed in and then out, pushing everything into the Force with the exhalation in the same way Tholme had taught him. After a long moment, everything was relatively still once again, and he opened his eyes to see Obi-Wan staring back with raised eyebrows.

"It's nothing I can't handle," Anakin replied in an even tone.

"Yet you still won't attack," Obi-Wan pointed out, motioning to the distance between them. "You're still afraid of losing control."

And that pretty much hit the nail on the head. He _was _afraid—of so many things; of a lightsaber cutting through his flesh, of the dragon breaking free and consuming him, of _failing _in front of the eyes of so many Masters…

A hand landed on his shoulder, and when had Obi-Wan moved? His old master's eyes were compassionate, as always, but still admonishing. "If you keep fearing the darkness, Anakin, it will still have a hold on you."

"I know," Anakin whispered, forcing himself to forget the Masters in the balcony, the fact that this was a test, and focus on the kind blue gaze hovering in front of him. "I know all that, but …."

"The execution isn't as simple," Obi-Wan finished for him, squeezing his shoulder gently.

Anakin took a second to marvel at that. His master had never been so affectionate before—content to keep an appropriate cold distance between them. The physical comfort was strange, but welcome. It anchored him, somehow.

"Yeah." Anakin's gaze unconsciously flicked up to the Masters and held long enough to see Mace Windu's tight frown before he wrenched his attention back to Obi-Wan, and willed his left hand to stop trembling so fiercely.

"Forget them," Obi-Wan murmured. "They aren't here. It's just you and me."

"Easier said than done," Anakin grumbled, but kept himself firmly fixed on Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan merely squeezed his shoulder again with a small smile. "You've never been very good at letting go, Anakin. Probably because you think too much about it. Just come at me. Don't think about it. This is simply a spar. There is no strategy here, just react. Maybe then, you won't dwell on the darkness as much."

"I don't know…" Anakin tightened the grip on his training saber uneasily.

"Try."

"I thought there is no try."

His mouth felt dry, like it was stuffed with cotton, and in his chest the furnace was so _hot. _It took all of him to stay standing and talking, to hold the blade casually, when everything in him just wanted to _attack. _

"Yoda's words, Anakin, not mine." Obi-Wan stepped back and reignited his lightsaber. The hum filled the air, like the tension itself was singing.

Anakin took another deep breath, settling himself, and waited … waited …

Obi-Wan's blade swung down and instinctively Anakin moved to parry. Their blades clashed with a sharp hiss, glowing white where blue and green met. Through the crossed weapons, Anakin saw Obi-Wan's encouraging smile and the dragon quieted slightly, enough.

"That's it, Anakin," Obi-Wan coaxed, and attacked again.

Anakin responded, and part of the world fell away suddenly, then. There were no Masters, no dragon, no fire, no lava, no hatred or darkness or fear. Just Obi-Wan, with a lightsaber in his hands and a tired grin on his face that got closer to his eyes every day, and the room around him—the solid grip of the blade in his own hands.

And so he fought, he _danced—_spinning and twisting and flipping, dodging, parrying, attacking, moving to a rhythm only he and Obi-Wan knew that carried them across the floor and back again. As he moved, he felt something bubbling in chest that he hadn't felt in _years—_since cradling _her, _broken and bloody, in his arms—

Not thinking about that.

Instead, as his blade met Obi-Wan's and bounced off, forcing him back on his heels, he focused on the thing itself—let it grow. When it finally slid past his lips softly and almost easily, he inwardly blinked in surprise.

It was _laughter. _

A wave of something close to happiness flooded through the bond with Obi-Wan in response, and Anakin gleefully threw himself back into the dance—free of the shadows for a little while.

Up in the balcony, Yoda watched with a private smile.

* * *

**Extra Notes: **

Mustafar: Just to clarify, for those who might be confused, Mustafar does NOT mean the rest of the events of Episode III happened. Episode III is irrelevant. Only Mustafar happened, and even the events of that were different, as you will see more in later chapters.


	3. First Impressions

**Wow, thank you all for your responses on this story so far. I've been rather blown away. You guys rock. XD **

**Here be the next chapter, and plottage! Actually recognizable, somewhat, kind of, a little less vague plottage! Finally. ;) Enjoy, please review, and if you have any questions feel free to PM me. **

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* * *

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The Coruscanti skyline was gray as a ship descended through the clouds—silver hull gleaming intermittently in the brief bursts of sunlight from the reflectors. Around the regal craft, yellow starfighters hovered like anxious bees, guiding it to a smooth landing on a dock not far from 500 Republica. As it settled down with a hiss, a figure in the shadows high above the landing platform hovered a finger over a small device clutched in one gloved hand.

The ramp lowered slowly, revealing a slender woman in elegant white, flanked by several guards dressed in full Nubian regalia—their weapons gleaming in their hands. The shadow snorted quietly. As though pathetic guns could save them now. When the woman was almost to end of the ramp, mere feet away from touching onto the landing platform, the shadow's finger moved.

The platform below exploded with a blast that shredded the landing ramp and tore holes in the duracrete itself, leaving little but smoking ruin and a body in white sprawled across the ground. The shadow retreated into darkness as several starfighter pilots rushed forward to aide the fallen woman whose blood was already staining the platform below her.

Senator Amidala was beyond help now.

* * *

The metal platform burned Padmé's knees as she crashed to the ground next to her fallen handmaiden, biting back tears at the sight of the other woman's tattered clothes and bloodied face. Cordé did not have long.

"Cordé," Padmé breathed desperately as she clutched the hand of her decoy, watching eyes nearly identical to her own struggle to focus.

"I'm sorry," Cordé breathed with a rattling cough, feebly returning the grip. "I've failed you, senator."

For the hundredth time in her relatively short life, Padmé wondered what she could have possibly done to have earned such unwavering loyalty as she shook her head vehemently. "No!"

But Cordé was gone, fading away with a tired sigh, and all Padmé could do was stare in horror. Hands grasped her shoulders, pulling her upright urgently. When she blinked past her mounting tears, she saw the worried face of Captain Typho.

"Senator Amidala, we must leave," he insisted. "You're still in danger here."

Padmé spared Cordé's body one last mournful glance. "I shouldn't have come back."

Captain Typho tugged at her, drawing her away from the wreckage, and with a heavy heart, she followed.

* * *

"What?" Anakin searched Obi-Wan's face for some evidence of deception, but found nothing. His former master was as composed as always. "You can't be serious."

"I am perfectly serious, Anakin," Obi-Wan replied glibly. Anakin frowned at the cavalier tone, wondering why his life constantly seemed to the butt of one huge joke.

"It's only been three months."

"I am well aware of that fact." Still nothing but cheerful blankness from Obi-Wan, though Anakin got the distinct impression the older man was toying with him in some way.

"It's too soon. How could the Council have approved of something like this?" He argued, fighting off his mounting panic.

"It was mostly Master Yoda's doing, I assure you. He was rather impressed with our spar the other day."

"What does the rest of the Council think of this?"

Obi-Wan shrugged, waving his hand casually. "I imagine they are not very thrilled, especially Master Windu, but is that anything new?"

Anakin realized that in this situation, like so many recently, he would have to accept defeat. "No, I guess not."

Obi-Wan nodded sagely, but his expression quickly leaned toward skepticism as he took more time to study Anakin's face. Anakin fought the urge to stare at the ground in order to escape the probing eyes—an urge he seemed to be fighting more and more frequently. Stupid, perceptive Obi-Wan.

"You don't feel ready?" Obi-Wan ventured after several moments of prolonged and distinctly uncomfortable silence, at least for Anakin. Any notion of discomfort had probably blown right over Obi-Wan's head.

Anakin thought briefly about lying, but disregarded the idea almost instantly. Lies had no more place between them—he'd decided that upon landing on Coruscant and he would stick with his private oath.

"No, I don't."

Obi-Wan turned to glance out at the gleaming evening sun that bathed the hallway in pristine golden light. Anakin followed his gaze, once again marveling at the grandeur of even the sunsets on Coruscant.

"It's a simple mission, Anakin," Obi-Wan said without looking away from the outside world. "Mere protection duty. And I will be there to make sure things run smoothly."

"I've learned in my life, Obi-Wan, that missions are rarely as simple as they look," Anakin countered stubbornly.

A large part of him wanted to remain safely behind the walls of the Jedi Temple forever. Here, he wasn't really a danger to anyone. Here, he couldn't fail. But the more sensible part of him knew that was wishful thinking. There was a world out there the Jedi were needed in and he would have to face it eventually. The man he had once been would have gone for sooner rather than later, but that man was gone now and he was at a loss.

"I know you can do this, Anakin," Obi-Wan's voice was firm and so sincere it hurt. "You doubt yourself too much."

Anakin took several steps forward and rested his head against the cool, thick transparisteel of the window, letting the sensation soothe the storm raging in him. "If you say so."

Obi-Wan's hand was warm and solid against his back, a contrast to the transparisteel. "I do say so, Anakin. But you must believe it for yourself."

"I know," Anakin replied with an air of finality and taking the less-than-subtle hint, Obi-Wan let the argument slide.

The hallway lapsed into a heavy silence only broken by the sound of boots moving softly against carpet and Jedi murmuring to each other as they passed. This silence was melancholy from so many important things left unspoken, and Anakin could hardly bear it, but the right words were nowhere to be found.

"Fine," Anakin finally whispered to the transparisteel. Behind him, Obi-Wan raised his eyes—cautious hope in them visible even in the transparisteel's meager reflection. "I accept the mission."

Obi-Wan withdrew with a pleased smile. "Very good. I will inform the Council."

Anakin listened to the swish of his former master's robes as he departed. Only once he was surrounded by nothing but background noise again did Anakin realize that he knew next to nothing about the mission he had just accepted.

Wonderful.

* * *

The lift in 500 Republica was rising far too fast for Anakin's liking, and he straightened his cloak nervously, telling himself that he was twenty-three standard years old and therefore above fidgeting like a Youngling. Like usual, Obi-Wan picked up on his emotions and shot him an admonishing look out of the corner of his eye.

"Nervous?" There was no accusation in his tone, but Anakin still glowered.

"Maybe. A little. Who're we protecting again?" He knew already, mostly, but he needed something, anything, to get his mind off the fact that he was outside the Temple for the first time in months and going on an actual _mission. _

And the fear waiting to eat him alive the second he let his guard down.

As predicted, Obi-Wan faced him fully with an exasperated look. "The senator from Naboo, Padmé Amidala."

"Right. Someone tried to kill her."

"Well at least you were half-listening," Obi-Wan grumbled.

Anakin sent him a pleading look meant to convey the general message of: _please play along, I need this. _Fortunately, Obi-Wan interpreted it correctly and some of the annoyance eased from his features.

"Yes. They planted explosive charges on the landing platform before she arrived on Coruscant. The blast killed a decoy."

Anakin 'hmmed' softly in response. "Who is she?"

"Senator Amidala?"

Anakin nodded, and Obi-Wan smiled faintly. "She's a rather remarkable woman. When she was fourteen she was the queen of Naboo, and during the Naboo Blockade she was the Princess of Theed, and held hostage in the city."

"The mission that killed Qui-Gon?" Anakin regretted the question the second it left his mouth when Obi-Wan's eyes went dark with a depth of pain that had never eased, even after thirteen long years.

"Yes," the older Jedi whispered, and another melancholy silence permeated the lift, drenched in leftover grief.

Anakin desperately sought a way to pull Obi-Wan's mind away from the past and imagined failures. "So, what is she like?"

To his relief, Obi-Wan smiled again. "_Very _stubborn. In fact, I think she may be able to evenly match you in that arena, Anakin. I would brace yourself."

"Great," Anakin grumbled, once again straightening his cloak and running a hand through his messy hair that refused to lie flat. It was too short—shorter than he'd worn it since he was a Padawan and confined to that stupid haircut—but he supposed he sort of had Obi-Wan to thank for that.

Right, not thinking about _that, _either.

Obi-Wan's elbow dug into his side suddenly, forcing him a little off balance. Once he had caught himself against the side of the lift, he turned to glare at his former master, who stared back with the usual annoying calm that didn't really mask the amusement flickering in his eyes.

"Focus, Anakin. We're almost there."

Anakin glanced up at the flashing numbers and saw that they were only a floor from their destination.

_Sithspit. _

He felt Obi-Wan's worry trickle through the still-healing bond at that somewhat forceful thought, but before the older Jedi could offer him any words of reprimand or reassurance, the lift glided to a halt and the doors slid open.

On the other side was a kind of creature Anakin had never seen, with googly eyes and flapping ears, dressed in senatorial robes. It took a lot of Jedi control not to gape, especially when the creature saw Obi-Wan and literally jumped for joy.

"Obi?" The creature's voice was shrill and grated on Anakin's nerves, but he found all he could do was scramble out of the way as the thing made a beeline for his former master with another delighted cry. "Obi!"

He latched onto a smiling—wait, _smiling?—_Obi-Wan's hand and enthusiastically pumped it up and down. "Obi, mesa so smilin' to seein' yousa!"

"Good to see you, too, Jar Jar," Obi-Wan replied good-naturedly.

Anakin found himself stuck between wanting to stick this annoying _Jar Jar _with his lightsaber or demanding to know how in the name of the Force Obi-Wan _knew _this being. Deciding that both would be detrimental to earning the Council's respect, he remained frozen in place, watching the spectacle of a reunion with slightly wide eyes. Until Obi-Wan saw him, that is, and grinned, motioning him forward. Anakin reluctantly complied, stopping when he was next to his former master and directly in front of Jar Jar, who stared with curious eyes.

"Jar Jar, this is my good friend and former apprentice Anakin Skywalker. Anakin, this is Jar Jar Binks. He was a great help to us on the mission to Naboo." Well, that answered one question, but as Jar Jar grabbed his mechanical hand and subjected it to the same treatment as Obi-Wan's—complete with excited proclamations that any friend of "Obi's" was a friend of his— the desire to run him through with a lightsaber remained.

_-Be polite. _He heard Obi-Wan admonish him through the bond, and reluctantly Anakin plastered a smile on his face.

"It's nice to meet you, Jar Jar."

Jar Jar nodded happily and motioned for them to follow, calling out to someone in the main room. "Senator Padmé, mesa palos here! Lookee, lookee, Senator! Desa Jedi arrivin'."

As they entered, Anakin noticed a petite woman dressed in full senatorial regalia turn away from the expansive window and approach them, a tall and stern looking man shadowing her closely. As she grew closer, Anakin found himself surprised at how beautiful and _young _she was—probably no older than him. When he had pictured Senator Amidala, he had imagined some ugly and spoiled old woman, who'd grown fat and complacent by the decadent lifestyle of a politician. In truth, Padmé seemed anything but, and he supposed that he, of all people, should not make such hasty judgments.

Like Jar Jar, Padmé's delighted grin was directed at Obi-Wan, and again Anakin hung back in the shadows as the older Jedi graced the senator with a deep bow.

"It's a great pleasure to see you again, milady." As he straightened, Padmé extended a hand in a much more poised way than Jar Jar had.

"It's been far too long, Master Kenobi." Even her voice was gentle and compassionate, unlike any politician's he had ever heard. If it hadn't been for the ornate clothing and the proud way she carried herself, he would never have suspected that she was a member of the Galactic Senate.

When her inquisitive brown gaze turned to him, it took even more Jedi control not to fidget self-consciously as time seemed to freeze. These butterflies fluttering in his stomach—he hadn't felt them since _her. _Obi-Wan noted his discomfort with a small smile, even as he stepped forward to smoothly intervene in a silence that had stretched on a little too long.

"Senator Amidala, I would like you to meet Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker, my former apprentice. He is the Jedi that will be in charge of this endeavor. I am merely here for support." Though Obi-Wan's voice was warm, Anakin wished the older man hadn't made him sound like a recovering spice addict, or worse, incompetent.

Senator Amidala smiled again—more guarded but not without warmth—and extended a delicate hand to him, which Anakin grasped in his own gloved hand, trying and failing not to feel awkward.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Knight Skywalker. The same Skywalker that was so instrumental in defeating Darth Vader, correct?"

And with that innocent question the world dropped out from beneath his feet. Sithspawn, he'd forgotten about that little lie the Jedi Council had told to the world, and to much of its own Order—all in name of preservation of Jedi reputation and inner structure. His throat went dry and when he finally summoned words they cracked terribly leaving his mouth.

"Yes, that's right. It's nice to meet you, Senator." He offered a short bow and a thin smile of his own to cover the fact that his voice sounded partially like a dying frog.

If Amidala noticed, she said nothing, merely withdrew her hand with another pleasant smile and gestured at the couches to their right. Silently, Anakin took the hint and perched himself cautiously on the edge of the soft sofa. Obi-Wan sank down next to him and he breathed a little easier when a wave of reassurance flooded the bond, silently thanking Obi-Wan. He was better at this whole moral support thing than Anakin had expected.

As Amidala took her seat, the other man—whose apparel easily labeled him security of some kind—spoke for the first time. "I'm Captain Typho of Her Majesty's security service. Queen Jamilla has been informed of your assignment. I'm grateful you're here, Master Jedi. The situation is more dangerous than the senator will admit." He finished with a pointed look in Amidala's direction, and Anakin noticed her stiffening shoulders with an inward frown.

Maybe Obi-Wan was right. Unfortunately, it wouldn't be the first time.

"I don't need more security, I need answers," the senator replied sternly. "I want to know who's trying to kill me."

Silence hung in the wake of her statement, as Anakin traded a questioning glance with Obi-Wan. His former master arched an eyebrow and nodded his head in the senator's direction. Apparently, Anakin would be taking the lead on diffusing the situation.

Great.

Drawing himself up, he answered—pleased his voice sounded relatively normal now. "We're here to protect you, senator. Not start an investigation."

Senator Amidala's shoulders went rigid and her hands clenched tightly in her lap as she fixed him with a hard stare. "So, you wish for me to sit here and wait until the attacker strikes again? Why not remove the problem at its source? That would be a better use of your time and efforts."

"I cannot exceed my mandate," Anakin argued, leaning forward slightly and returning the stare. He might have been off balance and nervous as all nine hells, but two could play the intimidation game. This _politician _would not get the better him.

The butterflies were definitely long gone.

"Jedi protection is overkill," Amidala fired back. "I have my own security force. Isn't a part of protection making efforts to neutralize the threat rather than simply waiting until the problem arises again? I would imagine investigation would a part of any mandate."

"You do not know my Council." Anakin made sure his tone left little room for argument. "And I will do what they have requested of me. No more, senator."

Amidala sighed, and silently surrendered with the diplomatic smile she offered. Around them, some of the growing tension bled out of the room as the other occupants exchanged uncertain glances.

"Perhaps with merely your presence, the mystery surrounding the threat will be revealed." She rose in one regal move, prompting Anakin to his feet, as well—if only out of required respect. "Now if you'll excuse me. I will retire." Her voice was cold, but Anakin still bowed slightly as she turned and glided quickly from the room without a backward glance.

Obi-Wan had definitely been right about the stubborn part. Anakin still wasn't sure about remarkable.

"I know I'll feel better having you here," Typho spoke up, drawing Anakin's gaze away from Amidala's stiff, retreating form. "I'll have an officer stationed on every floor and I'll be in the control center downstairs."

Anakin nodded. "Thank you, captain."

Typho returned the nod and headed for the lifts, Jar Jar trailing behind—no doubt to retire to his own quarters, wherever those may be. That left him and Obi-Wan, who was regarding him with unabashed amusement.

"Stop smirking like that," Anakin demanded as soon as the lift doors closed behind Typho and Jar Jar and he sensed them descending.

"That was quite a battle of wits, Anakin," Obi-Wan commented, trying for neutral and falling _very _short.

Anakin hardly saw what was so funny. "You were right about stubborn. But you forgot to mention arrogant, and conceited, and overly-demanding—"

"Anakin," the older Jedi chided, "what have I told you about first impressions?"

"Not to make them," Anakin muttered, dropping his cloak on the sofa. "I know."

"Senator Amidala is much more than she seems, I assure you. This is a stressful time for her, so be patient. Besides that," Anakin wasn't sure he liked the teasing twinkle in Obi-Wan's eye, but a part of him was pleased to see his master enjoying himself for the first time in so long, "you held your ground well. A feat not many are able to accomplish."

Anakin snorted in a rather un-Jedi like manner. "I'm not going to let a politician steamroll over me. Even if she is pretty and unassuming."

Obi-Wan actually chuckled at that, shaking his head. "Well, this is certainly going to be an interesting assignment, I feel. Now, how about we check the security?"

Anakin nodded and wordlessly the two split up—Obi-Wan heading toward the lifts while Anakin combed the apartment, grumbling a little in Huttese. He now understood why Yoda had demanded he take this assignment. If there was a greater test of his patience somewhere in the universe, he would be floored.

* * *

It was nightfall when Obi-Wan finally ventured back up to the senator's apartment, addressing Anakin's silent shadow as he entered the room.

"Captain Typho has more than enough men downstairs, no assassin would try that way." Anakin nodded absently, walking forward as he frowned down at a device in his hands.

"Any activity up here?" Obi-Wan pressed—a little disturbed by his former Padawan's lackluster response.

Anakin didn't look up from the datapad. "Quiet as a tomb."

Obi-Wan fought the urge to shudder a little at the morbid metaphor—a reminder that his old friend's mind was still in a rather dark place. "A tomb sounds a little foreboding, don't you think?"

"No, it will be one when I kill her," Anakin griped, tossing him the datapad.

He caught it smoothly, and glanced down at it, frowning when he saw only black where an image of the senator's room should have been. "What?"

"She covered the cameras." Anakin's tone was packed full of frustration, accented by the hand he ran through his already tousled hair. "I don't think she liked me watching her, but what was she thinking? I have half a mind to—"

"To what?" Obi-Wan interrupted the mounting tirade with a tired frown. "I don't think this is a battle you can win, Anakin."

"Watch me." Anakin crossed his arms and glared in the direction of the senator's room.

Obi-Wan shook his head. "I suggest we let this one slide. Senator Amidala is good at taking care of herself. And that little droid of hers, R2-D2, is rather protective of her, too, last I remember."

"I think she's trying to prove a point by using herself as bait." Obi-Wan tried not to laugh at the putout look on his former Padawan's face.

He was getting the feeling that Yoda had somehow known that Anakin and Padmé would clash and was now laughing gleefully to himself somewhere in the Temple while Obi-Wan was left to deal with their forceful personalities. Or perhaps this was Mace Windu's way of punishing him for not letting Anakin burn to death.

Either way, the universe was somehow how to get him. He was almost sure of it.

"Well, I see she also has your reckless tendencies," Obi-Wan fired back with a teasing smile.

Anakin looked anything but amused. "I really wish you would stop comparing us."

"It's impossible not to with the amount of similarities you two seem to share. But as far as this situation goes, I suggest we leave the senator alone. Short of marching in there and waving your lightsaber around, there is little you can do."

"Hey, that's not a bad idea." Anakin had his hand on his lightsaber and had taken two steps toward the door before Obi-Wan lunged forward and grabbed him.

"Anakin!"

To his relief, his former Padawan stood down almost immediately, wincing from the wave of alarm he had probably sent crashing along the bond. "Sorry."

"Just let it be. Besides, I'm assuming you can sense everything going in that room?"

Anakin shot him a suspicious look. "What makes you say that?"

"Master Tholme mentioned your remarkable affinity for the Living Force that manifested during rehabilitation."

Anakin grimaced. It was strange, seeing him avoiding talking about his own talents and abilities when four years ago he would have been bragging almost nonstop. "Yeah. Yeah, I can sense every man on every floor, and everything going on in that room. But it's the principle of the matter. I'm supposed to be in charge of security, and she isn't making my job any easier by defying my instructions."

"Now you know how I felt for ten years," Obi-Wan muttered and studiously ignored Anakin's answering glare.

Finally, Anakin sighed in surrender and ambled out onto the balcony, staring down at the sleepless city below. Obi-Wan surveyed his sagging shoulders and the unfocused way his gloved fingers made patterns on the thick railing at his waist with mounting concern. Anakin was still far too pale and drawn for his liking—a shadow of his former self—and though he had improved by leaps and bounds since returning to the Temple, he remained a long way from reaching his old level of health.

Obi-Wan ran all this through his mind, wondering how to broach the subject. When he opened his mouth "you look tired" was the first thing that escaped.

"I still don't sleep well," Anakin muttered—gaze on the Coruscanti lights.

"You still have nightmares?"

Anakin glanced over his shoulder at Ob-Wan and his eyes were dry and shadowed in his face—a dull, midnight blue that made something in the older Jedi's heart constrict—and nodded hesitantly.

Obi-Wan wasn't sure what to say to that, knowing that he in part was the cause of the nightmares currently plaguing his former Padawan. While it could be—and was by most of the Council—argued that he had been entirely justified in his actions on Mustafar, it didn't ease the guilt he felt whenever he glimpsed Anakin's scarred and almost ruined back or the metal limbs he now wore.

"Dreams pass in time," he finally said, hoping it sounded at least mildly comforting and desperately wishing he was better at this—closer to the kind, open heart that Qui-Gon had been. Anakin had that heart, buried beneath all the darkness and guilt and shame, but Obi-Wan had never been blessed with it.

Anakin still smiled at him sadly, understanding in ways he never had been before, and wandered backed into the apartment.

"So, do you think the attacker will strike tonight?" Obi-Wan ventured as Anakin perched himself on the back of the sofa, wanting to move the conversation out of the minefield he'd unwittingly steered it into.

Anakin looked grateful for the subject change. "Most likely. He'll be upset that he failed the first time. His reputation is on the line now."

"How do you think he'll try?"

Anakin shrugged. "Something more subtle. Either he'll try to sneak into the room or he'll send a droid or something, probably."

He mussed his hair again, which was sticking up all over the place and would have been comical on anyone other than Anakin. For Obi-Wan, it was just a reminder of how everything had changed. Anakin's hair had been brushing his shoulders on Mustafar.

"Hmm." He stroked his beard contemplatively as he cast another net out with the Force, feeling along the building and within the senator's chambers for any disturbances. Other than the security guard down the hall who had fallen asleep on his shift, nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. "You're probably right. Though I still don't sense anything."

"Me neither, but give it time." A teasing smile tugged at the corner of Anakin's mouth—the first in what felt like forever. "Be patient, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan chuckled, shaking his head. "Now that is quite ironic: _You _lecturing me on patience."

Anakin clapped a hand over his chest in mock affront. "But, Obi-Wan, in case you haven't noticed I excel in patience."

Playing along, Obi-Wan arched an inquisitive eyebrow. "Oh? Care to provide examples to back up your argument?"

"I have not killed Senator Amidala yet." Obi-Wan laughed so he wouldn't have to think about how many senators had once died under Vader's blade, but the sound came out thin and fake.

Anakin, too, seemed to realize the blunder and winced, drawing into himself slightly as the playful air drained from his eyes. "I'm sorry … I…"

"It's okay," Obi-Wan whispered, though it was anything but.

Anakin looked ready to apologize further, but suddenly he stiffed and jumped from his perch on the sofa, staring wide-eyed in the direction of the senator's room. Obi-Wan felt it, then, a strong pull toward Amidala's chambers, coupled with a skin-prickling sense of danger.

"I feel it too," he breathed and Anakin exploded into motion, forcing him to follow close on his heels.

His former Padawan didn't bother with the door controls, choosing to blow it open with the Force instead, igniting his blade as he barreled into the room and took a flying leap onto the senator's bed. His hand on his own saber, Obi-Wan watched as Anakin cleanly cut through two very ugly-looking bugs that had been perched near the sleeping woman's face. The senator awoke with a startled gasp, jerking upright in the bed and staring at Anakin with a mixture of shock and embarrassed anger. Obi-Wan hurried forward to diffuse the situation.

"It's alright, milady. Please remain calm." Had he not been so focused on keeping everything under control, or distracted by the slightly hysterical handmaiden that suddenly appeared in the doorway, begging to know if the senator was alright, he might have noticed that Anakin's attention had turned toward the window.

"Droid!" Anakin suddenly yelled and charged the glass, throwing himself through it in a forward dive and latching onto the droid trying to make its retreat.

Unfortunately, the droid flew off into the night, carrying Anakin, clinging precariously, with it. Obi-Wan gaped for a long moment, then realized he should probably get going so he could rescue the idiot before he got himself in further trouble—the kind that would result in fatalities.

"Stay here!" He ordered an also-gaping Amidala, and charged from the room, flying past the handmaiden and then the approaching guards with hasty instructions for them to look after the senator.

Hopefully, he could reach Anakin before the younger Jedi fell to his death. Or worse, before the droid carried him back to the assassin.

* * *

**Extra notes: (IMPORTANT) **

Anakin and Padme: Just for clarification Anakin and Padme have never met before. Explanation for this (kind of):

Messing Around With Episode I For the Sake of Backstory and Less of A Kind of Creepy Age Gap Between Our (Sort Of) Hero and Heroine:  Since this really won't give anything plot-wise away, Episode I happened like this: Qui-Gon crashes on Tatooine for some reason and meets Anakin. He quickly becomes convinced Anakin is the Chosen One. While he is searching for repairs for his ship, he begins training Anakin to be a Jedi. X amount of time later, his ship is fixed and he buys Anakin from an unhappy, but in-need-of-money Watto and whisks him off to the Temple to continue his training. When they get back to the Temple, Obi-Wan is in a huff and the Council is Not Pleased because Qui-Gon has kind of been missing a long time. Still, they reluctantly bow to Qui-Gon's stellar negotiating skills and agree to test Anakin. In the middle of all this, because the Trade Federation has awful timing, Qui-Gon and Obi-wan get called away to take care of the crisis happening on Naboo, leaving Anakin on Coruscant with the big (well except for Yoda), scary Council. Only Obi-Wan comes back and takes on Anakin's training as Qui-Gon's dying wish. During this whole fiasco, Padme was the Princess of Theed and held hostage in the royal Palace in Theed with the royal advisors and other important people (didn't stop her from wreaking havoc in several escape attempts). Therefore, Anakin and Padme never saw each other.

THIRTEEN YEARS have passed since this incident. Anakin has just turned twenty-three and Padme is twenty-five, so they're about two and half years apart instead of five.

Got it? ;) If not, feel free to PM me with questions. Stuff will be elaborated on throughout the course of the story.


	4. In The City of Blinding Lights

**I never want to see the speeder chase in Attack of Clones again. Ever. **

**Thank you for all your lovely reviews and continued support, in spite of the confusing nature of the story and lack of regular updates. :) I couldn't ask for more wonderful readers. **

**Please review. Thoughts, reactions, and constructive criticism are all welcome. It has been awhile since I wrote an action scene like this so I would love to know areas I succeeded or epically failed in. :) **

* * *

Anakin clung to the droid with every ounce of his strength, grateful for the first time in his life for the added force of his mechanical hand. Hundreds of thousands feet below him Coruscant sprawled out in a vast maze of brilliant lights, and the wind whipping by on all sides stung his face and sunk through his robes into his skin and bones, chilling him beyond what he thought possible.

As speeders rushed by in every direction, narrowly missing him, and the droid flew in close to the side of a building in an attempt to scrape him off, Anakin began to think that this had not been one of his brightest ideas.

In his defense, he had hoped that Obi-Wan would have shown up by now.

Instead, the droid dropped down through three lanes of traffic, missing a speeder driven by an angry looking Dug by mere centimeters. Anakin felt the creature's flare of anger and surprise through the Force, accompanied by the forceful thought of _"Jedi Poodoo!" _Before he had a chance to get offended at the insult—he'd never liked Dugs—the droid was off again, soaring upward this time toward the higher reaches of the skyscrapers.

Anakin adjusted his grip as an abrupt left turn produced a blast of wind that almost knocked him off into thin air. Not only was this droid annoying, it had been programmed well, which was all the more reason to find who had employed it. Anakin could always respect a good mechanic—not that he wasn't going to put a lightsaber through them in retaliation for absolutely ruining his night and subjecting him to a hell he hadn't actually lived through yet.

The droid dove again, leaving Anakin's stomach somewhere behind, and decided that it wanted to fly the wrong way down a traffic lane, forcing the Jedi to curl his legs up against his chest to make himself a smaller target. As flashes of fear and panic in the Force rose up around him from drivers and passengers alike, Anakin mentally apologized to them and hoped that he didn't inadvertently cause any accidents.

Somehow, he doubted that would go over well with the Council.

Suddenly, the droid evened out and straightened its previously erratic course. Anakin squinted against the wind pressure, blurrily making out a building sporting bright advertisements and a dark figure outlined against the vibrant colors, standing next to a parked yellow and green speeder.

The figure that seemed to be aiming a sniper rifle at him. This couldn't possibly end well.

Sucking in a deep breath, Anakin braced himself for the impact and the _very _long fall he was about to be forced to undergo. If this was his time to die, so be it. At least, his demise would give Mace Windu a laugh. He sensed a spike of satisfaction from the assassin in the half second before the shot came, streaking across the shortening distance and hitting the droid in an explosion of sparks and flying metal.

Predictably, Anakin fell … and fell … and fell.

As the buildings rushed by on both sides, the Jedi cursed Obi-Wan Kenobi to all nine hells and back again. Where for the love of the Force _was _he? He projected this general question, with a few un-Jedi-like Huttese curses for added emphasis, along the bond as loudly as he possibly could. The darker part of him hoped Obi-Wan was deafened by the mental noise, but this eased a little when he heard an answering shout.

-_Not so loud, Anakin! Below you. Yellow speeder. _

He sensed Obi-Wan, then—the brilliant flare that rarely faded from his consciousness—and the source was definitely below him. Blinking against the wind battering his eyes, he finally spotted the yellow speeder easing up beneath him. With a small Force push, he changed the course of his fall and slowed himself down, landing on the back of the speeder and pulling himself quickly into a crouch.

"Scoot over!" He yelled above the wind. "I'm driving!"

Obi-Wan sent him an appalled look that he chose to ignore, but nevertheless moved over to the passenger seat. Anakin slid forward into the pilot's chair, gripping the controls as he scanned the crowd for the assassin's speeder.

"What took you so long?" He demanded as he spotted the speeder out of the corner of his eye, smirking inwardly when his rapid acceleration threw Obi-Wan back against the seat with a surprised gasp and cut off the reply he had been forming.

"Forgive me, Anakin, but I first had to reach the speeder dock and then find a speeder with an open cockpit and then hotwire said speeder before looking for you and that speedy little droid of yours. And unlike you, I generally try to follow traffic laws."

"I follow traffic laws," Anakin retorted, but shot down his own argument when he followed the assassin's speeder the wrong way down a traffic lane, causing Obi-Wan to cringe back against the seat.

"I can see that." Obi-Wan flinched when a speeder passed by close enough that he could see the driver's stunned look before he veered sharply out of the way. "Why did I let you drive again?"

"Because," Anakin said as he closed some of the distance between them and the assassin, "I knew what his speeder looked like. And if I let you drive, we would never catch him."

He caught a glimpse of Obi-Wan's admissive frown right before the assassin sent his speeder into a straight dive down through traffic, forcing Anakin to follow. Lane after lane passed by in a blur as their descent reached obscene levels of speed—the ground rushing closer and closer with each passing second. Anakin's fingers tightened over the controls as he felt flickers of repressed panic from Obi-Wan and outright shock and alarm from the drivers around them. Above all else, rose the assassin's determination to shake them. Well, he was going to be disappointed.

Except there was a huge cargo freighter pulling into their path.

Anakin cursed quietly, but held their dive. It would be impossible to pull up now—they would be stuck in the middle of a traffic lane. So ignoring Obi-Wan's panicked shouts of: "Pull up, Anakin! Pull up!" he gritted his teeth and pushed them forward.

At the last second, he wrenched up on the controls, barely pulling them out of the dive in time to avoid a head-on collision and sending the speeder fishtailing through two traffic lanes before he regained full control. When he finally looked over at Obi-Wan after confirming that the assassin was still in his sights, wide eyes stared back out of a face two shades paler than it had been a few moments ago.

"You know I don't like it when you do that," Obi-Wan hissed, prying his fingers free of their death grip on the speeder so he could rest them in his lap.

In spite of his guilt, Anakin couldn't hold back a small smile. Rattling the unflappable Obi-Wan Kenobi was one of his unique talents and a source of great amusement.

"Sorry," he said with little remorse. "I forgot that you don't like flying." Because they hadn't flown together in over four years, but that went unspoken, like so many other things.

"I don't mind flying," Obi-Wan griped as they ducked under a low-hanging building and zoomed the wrong way down yet another traffic lane—the assassin a small dot in the distance, "but what you're doing is suicide!" His voice climbed an octave as a speeder zipped past with a blaring horn, causing him to flinch toward Anakin to escape the noise.

Anakin's smile grew but he let the comment slide. It was euphoric, being behind the controls of a craft again, with all of space at his command and Obi-Wan his grudging passenger. It felt like old times, and out here among the Coruscanti lights the shadows were far away.

The industrial district loomed suddenly before them, flames spurting from open fuel towers and coating the area with thick smoke. The risk of flying did little to deter the assassin, who swerved in between the towers with obviously practiced ease and dexterity. Anakin followed close behind, trying his hardest not to flinch from the scorching heat of the flames on his skin or think of lava, or smoke, or the phantom pain that screamed in his arm, leg, and back. Instead, he focused on the speeder beneath him, Obi-Wan fidgeting nervously next to him, and the red blur of the assassin's taillights through the haze, siphoning off his fear into the Force before the dragon could wake again.

They were almost to the end of the Factory District when the assassin decided to play dirty. Anakin watched with a sinking heart as he fired a single blast at one of the towering power couplings, starting a reaction that formed a crackling gate of purple electricity in the wake of his speeder. Anakin grimaced, knuckles in his left hand bleaching white over the controls while his glove creaked in protest on his right.

Oh, this was going to _hurt. _

"Anakin!" Obi-Wan cried, but there was no place to go except forward.

Anakin hunched down in the seat and plowed the speeder straight through the field, cringing as electricity wrapped around his body in spidery coils, crackling along his skin and stinging through even the protective layers of his Jedi robes. It felt far too much like Sith lightning for his tastes, but he _was not _going to think about that.

With a little more force than necessary, Anakin pushed hard on the gas, rocketing the speeder away from the net of electricity. Beside him, Obi-Wan gasped in pain, but then they were through and the electricity was falling away and retreating, lacking the power to give chase.

And the assassin was still visible against the backdrop of lights.

"That was good," Obi-Wan breathed in relief, glancing back at the electricity they had left behind.

Anakin, still feeling the gears in his metal arm and leg sparking, was not in the mood for compliments. "No," he replied a little angrily, "that was crazy."

Obi-Wan shot him in a puzzled look but Anakin didn't feel like elaborating. Obi-Wan had never felt Sith lightning before so he wasn't about to share the experience. Ahead of them, the assassin banked left around a pillar of glowing advertisements and into a tunnel nestled in one of the towering buildings.

Anakin went straight.

"Where are you going?" Obi-Wan demanded instantly, twisting in his seat to peer at the tunnel. "He went that way."

Anakin didn't follow his pointing finger as he shook out his prosthetic hand in hopes that it would start cooperating. He couldn't keep this up forever, probably not even for more than another half an hour or so. "If we keep this chase going much longer one of us is going to end up deep fried. Personally, I would like to find out who he is and who he's working for. This is a shortcut." A wave of doubt washed over him as he remembered that he had barely set foot on Coruscant in four years. "I think."

"You think?" Obi-Wan repeated incredulously. "And what happened to not starting an investigation?"

Anakin shrugged and offered him an innocent smile. "Well, since we're out here…"

Obi-Wan huffed and crossed his arms. "If I didn't know better Anakin, I would say that you were looking for an opportunity to participate in a high speed chase across Coruscant when you jumped out that window."

Anakin made a wide sweep around one of the buildings. "I only had the senator's interests in mind."

"Of course you did." Anakin ignored the sarcasm-coated comment in favor of piloting the craft despite the linger pain in his mechanical limbs.

Another few turns and he halted the speeder in a wide area between several skyscrapers. Leaning over the side of the craft, he inwardly grinned in triumph when he saw the tunnel off in the distance. This _was_ the shortcut; he hadn't completely lost his touch.

"Well, you've lost him." Obi-Wan didn't seem to agree, but that was no surprise.

"Sorry," Anakin muttered as he spotted a familiar green and yellow speeder approaching through the traffic, going at a much more subdued pace. Apparently the assassin thought that he had lost them. Too bad for him.

The speeder got closer. Only a few more seconds…

"That was some shortcut, Anakin." Obi-Wan was in full-scale lecture mode. With a mental sigh, Anakin tuned him out as he watched the speeder close more of the distance.

Five… four…

"He went _completely _the other way."

Three … two…

"I don't know what you were think—"

_One. _

"If you'll excuse me," Anakin cut his former master off mid-rant as he stood up and threw himself over the side of the speeder.

He felt a flash of surprise and frustration from Obi-Wan, but then it was gone and it was just him and the wind whipping around on all sides for the second time that night. He was really making this a habit. Deciding that didn't really matter as long as he got the job done, he spread his hands out wide and kept his legs bent to better control his descent, trying not to think too hard about the speeders passing in every direction.

Down … down … _down… _

At last, he spotted the speeder out of the corner of his eye. With a powerful Force push, he once again changed his direction to avoid a long public transport shuttle and latched onto the back of the assassin's speeder.

Unlike Obi-Wan, the assassin was less-than-pleased to see him and quickly made this obvious by braking hard, sending him slipping down the length of the speeder until he was clinging like a leech to one of the twin forks in the front—once again thankful for his mechanical hand's added strength. The assassin wasn't deterred, though, and Anakin felt a flash of warning through the Force less than a second before a blaster bolt screamed past his head. With a gasp, he let his legs slip from speeder, dangling from the underside of the fork by his fingers as the bolts ripped by overhead.

He swung his weight sideways and managed to plant his right foot up on the side of the other fork. A little fancy maneuvering helped him get his other leg up and both hands to one side of the fork. Form there, it was fairly simple to let his legs slide and shift his grip quickly from one fork to the other. Getting up on the fork was a different matter, as the assassin weaved erratically through traffic, still trying to throw him off and projecting powerful waves of dismay and frustration in the Force.

Persistence prevailed and after a few agonizing moments, Anakin managed to drag his whole body up onto the fork, catching a glimpse of the assassin's angry expression out of the corner of his eye.

Strange, from this vantage point, the killer looked like a _woman, _and did her face just _change? _For a split second it looked strikingly alien.

He/she/it didn't give him much time to dwell on it, braking hard again. But this time the slide took him right to the side of the cockpit, where he had been hoping to end up. With some highly undignified wriggling, he hauled himself to the top of the speeder and got his lightsaber free from his belt, planning to cut his way into the cockpit.

The plan lasted all of thirty seconds before a blaster bolt struck his metal hand, sending sparks along his arm and slacking his grip enough to send the lightsaber tumbling away into space.

_Poodoo. _

But at least he had managed to cut a hole in the cockpit, if only one big enough to fit his arm through. Ignoring the pain, he reached into the cockpit and latched onto the blaster, trying to wrestle it free of the assassin's powerful, desperate grip. Unfortunately, the blaster went off in the struggle and hit the control panel, catching the speeder on fire and setting off a mini explosion that nearly shook him off his precarious perch. He retreated so he could hang on for dear life while the assassin, who was _definitely _female, threw herself over the yoke, battling for control of the dying speeder.

It was a lost cause, and the ground was approaching fast. This had gone _amazingly _well.

The speeder tilted sharply and Anakin finally lost his grip, tumbling off into a stack of metal crates and feeling the impact in what seemed like every bone in his body. For a long moment all he could do was lay stunned on the permacrete and listen to the speeder crash a few yards away with a deafening explosion, generating screams from the pedestrians and powerful ripples of surprise and fear through the Force.

_I'm getting too old for this, _he thought as he hauled himself to his feet, hand pressed against his aching ribs, and almost laughed out loud. He was twenty-three. If he was old then Obi-Wan was _ancient _and Yoda should be dead.

He battled for air as a curious crowd gathered around the flaming speeder and the assassin pried herself loose from the heap of metal. She spotted him quickly and with a grimace, exploded into motion, pushing her way through the murmuring crowd. With a quiet groan, Anakin followed. The chase was on, again.

They weaved their way deeper into the Undercity, and Anakin lost count of how many innocent bystanders got callously plowed over in his mad dash, twinges of anger and surprise flaring before rapidly dying away as Anakin left them behind. He could barely make out the assassin's back as she ducked and weaved through the thick crowd, blending in almost seamlessly with the lowlifes and criminals surrounding them.

As Anakin rounded a corner, his feet hit a slick puddle of oil and he skidded sideways, slamming roughly into a being easily a foot taller than him with wicked-looking tusks and angry yellow eyes.

"Watch it, scum!" It boomed, and grabbed for his tunic with clawed hands.

He twisted out of the way and increased his speed, feeling his sleeve tear, leaving half in the creature's grip. This had definitely _not _been his day. He kept running, glad that he had at least been lucky enough to have his left sleeve torn—ripping his glove and exposing his mechanical arm to the elements was not an experience he wanted any time soon. The lectures from the Temple medical droids about safety and proper care of cybernetic limbs would be endless.

As he darted around yet another corner, he spotted the assassin again, ducking into a nightclub boasting numerous neon advertisements, and a bright yellow speeder slowly coming in for a landing—occupied by a familiar figure. With a faint sigh of relief, he dropped his pace down to a slow jog and stopped in front of the entrance to the club, watching Obi-Wan hop out of the speeder and stalk toward him—a look Anakin knew all too well firmly affixed on his face.

Obi-Wan was in full Master mode, and a very familiar lightsaber was clutched tightly in his hand. Anakin mentally braced himself for the verbal beat down he was about to receive, feeling remarkably like a Padawan again and hating it.

"First off," Obi-Wan began as soon as he reached his former Padawan, "_tell _me _before _you decide to throw yourself out of speeders so that I don't have a _heart attack. _Secondly, please refrain from throwing this around." He slapped Anakin's lightsaber into his outstretched palm. "And thirdly, what did you do to your tunic?"

Anakin hooked his lightsaber back on his belt with a quiet sigh. "Okay, sorry about the speeder thing. I just figured you would have tried to stop me if you knew. Don't bother denying it." Obi-Wan's mouth snapped closed. "Secondly, _this," _he patted his lightsaber, "got shot out of my hand. And thirdly, it was an angry death stick dealer. Don't ask." Again, Obi-Wan bit back whatever he had been about to say with a shake of his head.

"The situations you get yourself into. Your penchant for reckless behavior obviously hasn't changed."

"I had a plan." It came out a little too defensive to be worth much, but the truth in the statement remained. "Anyway, we've got an assassin waiting in this club. I say we go in and get her."

Obi-Wan was already walking toward the door. "An excellent idea, Anakin." He paused on the threshold—a belated puzzled look stealing onto his features as he glanced back over his shoulder. "Wait, _her?" _

Anakin nodded as he led the way into the crowded club, brushing past a few patrons in absolutely outlandish outfits—and this coming from a man with wind tousled hair probably resembling a bird's nest, a ripped sleeve, and exhaust-stained robes.

"Yeah. Our assassin is a woman. And I'm pretty sure she's a Changling."

"Well, that certainly complicates things," Obi-Wan grumbled, scanning the mingling patrons—most at varying levels of intoxication.

"She's pretty smart," Anakin murmured as he did his own visual sweep. "She'll probably try to find the back door while we search the crowd."

"Split up, then," Obi-Wan ordered. "You search the left side and I'll—what?" He trailed off at Anakin's arched eyebrow.

"Who's leading this mission?" the other Jedi asked pointedly.

To his surprise, Obi-Wan actually smiled and backed up a step, gesturing for Anakin to take the lead. "Forgive me, _Master. _Lead the way. I shall follow."

Anakin nodded, grateful for his former master's acquiescence. "Since I have a bit more luck with sensing individual people I'll look around in the crowd and see if I can pick her out. You go find the back door and cover it."

Obi-Wan nodded. "Very well. I shall contact you if I find her." And with that, the older Jedi descended the stairs and vanished into the diverse crowd, pushing his way toward the back of the club.

Anakin sighed and forced himself down into the overcrowded main level, as well, throwing out his senses like a net across the room and trying not to drown beneath the flood he got in return. Being the Chosen One was _overwhelming, _sometimes.

A man to his left was drinking to forget the fact that his wife cheated on him.

A woman to his right needed to get her mind out of the gutter. Hello, _Jedi. _

A group of three up ahead were engaged in a highly illegal business deal and one was cheating the other two blind.

Another man with two women hanging off his arm was worrying about the cost of drinks for all of them.

A shady figure with antennae was scoping the crowd for potential death stick clients.

Obi-Wan had found the back door.

But still no sign of the assassin.

Anakin sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. This was a fairly small club, so she should have limited places to hide. Unless she had changed into someone else, but from what he remembered of Clawdites, they didn't like to flaunt that skill in public.

Just to be absolutely sure, he weaved his way to the 'freshers in the rear corner and mentally searched those, too—almost desperate for a flicker of _anything. _All he found were a few giggling women and several drunks. No Clawdite, not even a trace.

_Sithspit, _she couldn't have just disappeared. Right?

_-Anakin!_

The mental shout startled him, as did the following flash of warning, but he recovered quickly and shoved through the crowd at as close to a sprint as he could manage, heading for the back door.

When he reached his destination, he saw Obi-Wan restraining a very irate assassin cradling a lightsaber burn on her upper arm. He raised an inquiring eyebrow at his former master, who smiled grimly at him.

"She tried for the back door. Just like you predicted. Good work, Anakin." He felt a little twinge of pride at his former master's praise, in spite of the lingering frustration at being unable to sense the woman.

"Thanks," he muttered in response, before nodding at the assassin and the curious club behind them. "Now, I suggest we get out of here and go somewhere more private to talk."

"Another excellent idea." Obi-Wan hustled the silent assassin out the back entrance and into a grimy alley littered with trash and hissing with steam from various vents.

They huddled in a circle, Obi-Wan looming over the Clawdite while Anakin scanned their surroundings for any sign of danger. "Now, who hired you?" the Jedi master demanded.

The Clawdite woman stared back defiantly and said nothing. "Tell us," Obi-Wan insisted, putting a little Force suggestion into the order.

To their mutual surprise the assassin smirked at them. "Jedi mind tricks won't work on me. Nice try, though."

Deciding to test the claim, Anakin took a step forward and gripped the assassin's shoulders, locking stares and infusing as much Force power as he could without waking the dragon into his voice. "Tell us now."

Dark eyes hot with defiance stared back at him and her lips remained clenched shut, proving his efforts futile. He tamped down on his rising frustration itching to turn into anger—the dragon he often named Vader demanding that he just _rip _the information right out of her skull. Taking a deep breath and feeling Obi-Wan's worried eyes on him, he dropped the assassin's shoulders and took a step back, letting his former master restrain her again.

"We'll have to take her to the Temple," Obi-Wan reasoned softly-a soothing undertone running through his voice Anakin couldn't remember hearing before Mustafar. "See if some of the more powerful masters can get anything out of her."

Anakin nodded and opened his eyes—in control of the dragon for the time being. He felt it, then, a flare of danger from a source he couldn't identify. Whirling, he planted himself in front of Obi-Wan and the Clawdite, scanning the towering skyscrapers for any signs of unusual activity.

There was nothing but shadows and Coruscanti lights.

"Anakin?" Obi-Wan questioned—no doubt picking up on his distress.

"Sorry. I thought I sensed something." Anakin turned back to the older Jedi with a tired smile, nodding in the direction of the Changling. "You should get her back to the Temple. I'll take public transport and go check on Senator Amidala."

Obi-Wan nodded in assent. "Of course. It _is _your mission, after all. I shall contact you if we learn anything new."

Anakin nodded and watched silently as Obi-Wan led the assassin away with a firm grip on her arm. Wounded, she glared but did little to resist as they made their way to the waiting speeder. Once the craft was just a bright yellow dot amongst the lights, Anakin turned away and began his trek to the nearest shuttle station, feeling doubts and uncertainties churning through him.

Just as he had predicted, this mission wasn't going to be nearly as easy as first expected.

* * *

Senator Amidala was pacing the floor of her main room when he walked through the door, looking like he had been run over by a speeder, judging from the way her eyes widened.

"We caught your assassin," he informed her by way of greeting. A simple "hello" somehow seemed inappropriate in this situation.

"Really? Did you find out who he was working for?" the senator asked urgently, still wearing a path in her expensive carpet—her nightgown swishing delicately around her feet as she moved and her unkempt hair bouncing against her back.

She looked more human like that.

"She," he replied absently, running a soot-streaked hand across his soot-streaked jaw, "and no, we didn't. Obi-Wan took her back to the Temple for further questioning."

Amidala paused at last, curling her fingers against the back of the couch as she regarded him with stern eyes. "So, I'm assuming you'll recant your decision not to start an investigation?"

Anakin pressed his lips together tightly as he stamped out the surge of displeasure that rose up in him at the idea of defeat at the hands of this strong, proud, _stubborn _woman. But, logically an investigation was all but required now, and he prided himself on not being irrational. Reckless, yes. Irrational, never—not anymore, not since leaving the Jedi Temple in the dead of night to escape his grief and ending up in the cold embrace of the Sith.

"Yes," he said at last, breaking the tense silence. "The Jedi will start an investigation, milady."

Amidala nodded, and to his surprise there was no smugness in her small smile. "Very good, Master Jedi. Hopefully this matter will be resolved soon and it will not hinder the voting on the Military Creation Act."

Anakin nodded inattentively, caring little for politics. He knew nothing about the Military Creation Act, and figured it would be best not to complicate things by asking.

The Nubian senator smoothed out some of the wrinkles in her nightdress and gave him a curt nod. "Well, if the excitement is over for the night, Master Jedi, I will retire. Again."

Anakin found himself smiling against his will. "Of course, milady. I believe you'll be safe for the rest of the night."

She turned to go, but had only taken two steps toward her quarters when she spun back around to face him—a softness in her gaze he hadn't seen before.

"Thank you for saving me, Anakin Skywalker."

The words took him by surprise, sounding a lot like a surrender, but the shock soon morphed into a warmth he'd forgotten he was capable of feeling. He bowed and smirked at her, feeling a few of the ache and pains from the wild night recede, if only a little.

"The pleasure is all mine, Padmé Amidala."

Again she almost left, but stopped, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear, surprisingly vulnerable. "And I suggest you get some rest, too. As well as a fresh change of clothes. You look like you've been run over by a speeder."

Anakin glanced down at his filthy and torn robes and grimaced. "Close enough."

And Padmé Amidala laughed. The sound was almost musical, like small bells, and contagious, pulling a quiet chuckle from him. "Good night, milady."

"Good night, Master Jedi." He watched her go, gliding away once again toward her chambers. She was about to close the door behind her when a thought sparked his brain, urging him forward. "Wait. I have a request."

She arched an eyebrow at him, but complied, waiting until he had reached her. "Yes?"

"Please don't cover the cameras this time. I don't really want to jump out a window again tonight."

She smirked, but nodded in agreement. "I suppose I can manage that. Good night."

The door slid closed, separating them, and Anakin let out a long sigh into the silence of the room, feeling exhaustion settle deep in his bones. Deciding that a trek to the Jedi Temple for a shower and a change of clothes could wait until morning when Captain Typho's security was more alert, he spread his outer robe across one of the sofas and laid down on top of it, using Obi-Wan's as a blanket.

Soon, darkness came and carried him away.

He didn't dream.

* * *

**Extra Notes: **

Hints: I have been dropping hints as far as back story goes, so keep an eye out for little details. Just a heads up. As aforementioned, more will be revealed in larger chunks as the plot starts developing. Pinky swear.


	5. The Demands of Loyalty

**Sorry it's been so long, folks. I planned on updating much sooner, but this semester has been more chaotic than first anticipated. All I've had time to do is work, study, and occasionally sleep and eat. Which leaves no time for fun, creative things like this. But I digress. **

**I won't keep you any longer with excuses. Enjoy the chapter! And review! ... Please? **

* * *

It was sunrise on Coruscant.

The light gleamed off the spires of the Jedi Temple, bouncing back toward the cloud-scattered sky painted in gold, red, and magenta. It was beautiful, breathtaking, but Coruscant could never do anything halfway. This sunrise was just like the thousands that had come before it.

He stood at the base of the Temple—at the very foot of the stairs leading up to the main entrance—staring up at the gold-tinged spires, but it wasn't the sunrise he was admiring. His partner was somewhere in the grand structure before him—in the prying hands of the Jedi—and that needed to be rectified.

Gloved fingers curled into a fist at his side as dark eyes narrowed at the spires.

Somewhere in there, Zam was being interrogated, and under Jedi pressure it would only be a matter of time before she cracked.

That couldn't happen.

For his safety … and for Boba's.

With one last lingering look, absently wondering if the Jedi safe inside the Temple's walls could feel the contempt radiating off him in waves, he turned back to the speeder parked a few feet away and climbed in. Once seated, he picked up the battered Mandalorian helmet from the passenger seat and slid it down over his head, covering up his storm-laced eyes and troubled expression. Adjusting the cloak to make sure it covered the bulk of his armor, he gripped the controls and slowly piloted away from the magnificent Jedi Temple.

Leaving Zam alone to face the Jedi had been a mistake, and Jango Fett always corrected his mistakes.

* * *

"We'll take a break for the moment." Zam bent over the table, gasping in relief at the rumbling voice.

Her head throbbed with the worst headache she'd ever experienced and her hands shook like she was on death sticks, but she was _winning. _The Jedi hadn't broken her yet—three days and they had to keep going back to their high and mighty Council empty-handed. Leaning back in her seat, she wiped a band of sweat from her brow, feeling her rough Clawdite skin under her fingertips and hating it. She preferred to be human, rather than her ugly species, but keeping the Jedi from cracking into her thoughts took too much effort, and she couldn't focus enough to maintain her normal shape, as well.

Across the table, one of the Jedi regarded her with solemn yellow eyes set in his leathery face. He might have introduced himself as Master Tiin but she hardly cared. One arrogant, robed Force user was the same as the next, in her opinion.

"How are you feeling?" The horned Jedi asked in that same deep, impassive voice.

Zam wished he was close enough so spit on. That would convey her feelings nicely. Instead, she treated him to the best glare she could muster in her current condition. "Wonderful. Thanks for asking."

"If the strain is becoming too much, we can stop for the day." Stupid Jedi, always pretending like they cared—even when they were trying to rip apart someone's mind.

"I'm fine," Zam growled, sitting up straighter in the hard chair and placing her cuffed hands on the table. "Continue if you want."

The Jedi nodded, still looking a little hesitant, but Zam merely closed her eyes and braced herself, knowing that in spite of what he said, the Jedi wouldn't give up until he got what he wanted. Sure enough, the first probe came quickly, burning into her mind like a laser beam. She clenched her teeth against the pain and focused her thoughts, picturing a memory she had from when she was a girl of a field of grass that rippled like a green sea in the wind.

The pressure increased, and Zam briefly thought her skull would crack from the weight. The sky above her was splintering, but she held on, looking down at the grass waving around her feet—the feel of it on her legs—and after what felt like an eternity, the searching fingers retreated.

She fell forward onto the table with another broken gasp—grateful for the cool surface against her burning cheek. She was about to fall apart, and the pain was three times stronger than the previous session, but she had still won. They hadn't broken her. They didn't know about _him—_her partner, her friend: the only one she had left in this galaxy.

She would protect him until she died.

"I think that is enough for today." The Jedi rose, looking troubled, which sent a spike of satisfaction through Zam. "I will arrange to have you returned to your cell." He bowed briefly to her, prompting a soft but still contemptuous snort, before hurrying from the room.

Zam sighed and kept her head on the table, lacking the strength to even lift it. Only when the door closed with a loud hiss and she heard the Jedi's footsteps retreating down the hall did she allow herself to think of Jango Fett.

* * *

Anakin readjusted his scarf with an irritated sigh and glanced sideways at the rigid form of Padmé Amidala. The senator's eyes were watching the Coruscanti traffic pass by on all sides as her private shuttled ferried to them to the Senate complex. Two seats up, one of her handmaidens gave him a sympathetic smile—no doubt picking up on his blatant discomfort. He would feel bad about his unprofessional behavior if his clothes didn't itch so badly and the silence wasn't so oppressive.

"Why do I have to wear civilian clothes again?" He turned to face the senator with crossed arms—determined to get a straight answer, unlike the three previous times he had asked the question.

"So that you blend in," Amidala answered smoothly without looking away from the window. "It would be suspicious if I was to walk around in the Senate with a Jedi escort."

Anakin rolled his eyes to the ceiling and silently begged the Force for the strength to keep from killing this insufferable woman. "The presence of a Jedi would probably deter another assassin, and that should be our goal—since drawing them out worked so well the last time."

The senator finally twisted in her seat to grace him with the full intensity of her stare. "On the contrary, we caught one of the assassins, so I believe drawing them out worked just fine, Master Jedi."

Anakin didn't back down. "Of course, Senator. You almost getting killed, me jumping out a window after a droid, and then giving chase all through Coruscant before finally managing to catch the assassin on a pure stroke of luck was a brilliant plan."

A smirked tugged at the corner of Amidala's mouth, cracking her cool, professional demeanor. "I thought so, Master Jedi."

Anakin ran a hand through his hair, trying and failing to tame it as usual. "I might not be able to protect you this time, milady."

It was the fear that was curling in his stomach speaking, he knew—the fear that alone, without the comforting presence of Obi-Wan, he would fail and she would end up dead. As much as he disliked her, he didn't want that—not more blood on his hands.

If only she would _listen. _"I have faith in you, Master Jedi." But that seemed to be impossible for Padmé Amidala.

"Have you considering leaving Coruscant?" Anakin pressed, unwilling to let the issue slide. "You would be safer on a more remote world. Perhaps even your homeworld."

She bristled, and he knew immediately he had failed in navigating the minefield that was conversation with Padmé Amidala. "I haven't worked for a year to defeat the Military Creation Act only to not be there when its fate is decided. With the Jedi leading an investigation and us working to draw out the other assassin, this matter should be resolved without having to hide away on some remote world until the storm passes."

Her tone—harsh and biting and condescending—left no room for argument. Anakin sighed softly and accepted defeat. Why did she have to be so _stubborn?_ "Very well, milady."

She turned away with a stiff nod as the Senate Building loomed before them. According to the senator, there was a little under two weeks to go before they voted on the Military Creation Act. Hopefully, he could keep her alive until then.

The shuttle pulled into docking area on the side of the Senate Building, and Amidala rose from her seat—her elegant dress swaying gently. She looked every inch a former queen and a Galactic Senator—cold and unapproachable, surrounded by high walls of breeding and station. As she moved around him into the aisle, he reached out a hand to stop her, gripping her arm tightly and ignoring the warning glare she leveled at him.

"I'll go first, senator." Before she could argue, he stepped in front of her and down from the shuttle onto the quiet landing platform.

Only a few pedestrians mingled about on the platform, and it was too quiet for his liking. He turned in a slow circle, surveying the surrounding skyscrapers with a critical eye. There were at least two dozen places a sniper could position himself and get a clear shot of Amidala exiting her vehicle. This wasn't safe, and he briefly contemplated telling the pilot to take them to a more crowded area, but the senator was already stepping down from the craft, followed closely by her handmaiden and Captain Typho.

She had taken two steps away from the shuttle when he felt it—a flare of danger that screamed at him through the Force. Before his mind had time to fully process the sense of alarm, he was in front of the senator and a concentrated blaster bolt was ricocheting off his drawn saber. As Typho pushed Amidala behind him and drew his own weapon, Anakin reached into the Force, trying to pinpoint the sniper's location.

There were too many lifeforms, all swirling together in one confusing pool, and he couldn't pick out the sniper's from the mass. With a growl of frustration, he turned to the tense Nubian security chief behind him. "Get her inside before he tries again."

Typho rushed to comply, hurrying Amidala and her handmaiden toward the Senate Building. Once they were safely away, Anakin pivoted back toward the skyline, clutching his lightsaber and daring the assassin to be stupid and try again.

"C'mon, where are you?" He muttered, but there was nothing but towering buildings, rushing traffic, and the teeming mess of life all around him that shielded the assassin's presence.

After a few more minutes of futile searching, he shut down his blade, ignoring the wide-eyed stares of nearby civilians, and stowed it in his sleeve, conceding yet another defeat. Once inside, he was met by an anxious Captain Typho and a slightly shaken Senator Amidala.

"Did you find him?" Typho pressed, though his expression said he already knew the answer.

Anakin shook his head. "No. I was too busy protecting Senator Amidala to pinpoint the direction the bolt came from and there were too many lifeforms to pick out the sniper's."

Typho holstered his blaster jerkily, frustration hindering the action. "Looks like these assassins aren't going to give up." He finished with a pointed glare in Amidala's direction, but was ignored.

"Thank you once again, Master Jedi." Amidala smoothed her rumpled dress and nodded at him.

Not in the mood for gratitude, Anakin crossed his arms and echoed Typho's glare. "I agree with the Captain, milady. These assassins are smart and they won't give up. Will you _please _consider the idea of hiding?"

To his surprise, something in Amidala's expression softened, even though her eyes remained steely. "Master Jedi, I cannot run and hide like a coward. The Military Creation Act will decide the fate of our Republic, and possibly even threaten future peace, I _must _be there for the vote. My people need me there. It is my _duty._"

"Fine," Anakin found himself softening a little, too, in the face of Amidala's conviction. It was familiar. _She _had possessed the same conviction once—a lifetime ago when they had been young and in love and still believed in the good of the galaxy, "but if the attempts on your life don't stop after the vote, Senator, will you consider hiding until the Jedi have completed their investigation?"

After a long moment of contemplation, Amidala nodded. "Yes, _after _the vote I will consider your suggestion. You have my word, Master Jedi."

As the senator turned and glided away toward the main chamber, Anakin shook his head in exasperation. For now, he supposed, that compromise would have to be good enough.

* * *

The durasheets hit the dingy table with a loud rustle, betraying their age. Jango bent over them with a thoughtful frown, lifting up a corner of the top one and feeling the material begin to disintegrate beneath his gloved fingertips.

"How old are these, again?" He lifted his gaze to the shifty-eyed alien across the table who fidgeted in the face of the impassive black visor. Coward.

"About a hundred years," he said at last, wringing its clawed hands nervously.

Jango picked up the top sheaf and held it up to the dim glowlamp, examining the faded blueprints sketched across its surface. A hundred years old was far from ideal, but on his limited schedule it would have to do. "I'll give you a hundred credits for them."

The little creature gulped nervously. "Actually … I was hoping for a … higher price," he squeaked.

Jango regarded him contemptuously. Fortunately for him, he was good at digging up rare items and reselling them on the black market. Otherwise, he would have been dead long ago. Though his usefulness was beginning to become obsolete…

"I could just kill you and take it."

Jango's hand hovered threateningly over one of the blaster pistols holstered at his hip and the alien squeaked again, nodding so furiously his head looked to be in danger of falling off. "N-never-mind! A hundred is good."

With a curt nod, Jango threw the credits on the table and scooped up the durasheets, stalking out of the dark workshop without a backward glance at the creature cowering in his chair and thanking the Universe he was still alive.

Once outside in the Coruscanti night—full of air heated by the millions of brilliant lights—he inspected the durasheets again, turning them over carefully in his hands as keen eyes tried to pick out the best entrance and exit strategy. He briefly wondered how the cowardly alien had managed to get his hands on something as priceless as blueprints to the Jedi Temple, but in the end it didn't matter.

His eyes picked up a small vent apparently leading into the Temple from above the front entrance.

He had found his way in. Now, all he needed to do was find a Jedi or two.

Tucking the durasheets under one arm, safe beneath his protective cloak, he set off down the street—soon swallowed up by the shadows and the crowd.

* * *

Obi-Wan jerked at the hand that gently shook him, bolting upright in his chair and blinking up at the kind face of Jocasta Nu.

"Master Kenobi, you need some rest," she insisted, folding her arms into the voluminous sleeves of her robe, reminding him of a stern grandmother.

Wiping away sleep from his eyes, he glanced around at the nearly deserted archives, realizing with a little chagrin that he had fallen asleep at his station in the middle of research. He couldn't really remember the last time he had eaten, or showered for that matter, but it was difficult to care. He wanted to get to the bottom of this plot to kill Senator Amidala as quickly as possible so he could return to protection duty with Anakin.

His former Padawan wasn't ready to be on his own, no matter the Council's opinion.

Jocasta Nu cleared her throat, and he remembered that he was supposed to offer a response of some kind to her previous demand. With a sigh, he ran a hand over his beard, feeling the tangles, and returned his attention to the frustrated Archives Master.

"My apologies, Madame Nu, but I will sleep when this assassin is caught." He attempted a disarming smile. "And I believe I just got quite a bit of rest."

Madame Nu huffed disdainfully. "Well, Master Kenobi, if you insist on continuing to work until the point of collapse, it is no business of mine." She turned on her heel and left, heading over to a small cluster of Knights browsing one of the shelves on the far side of the hall.

Obi-Wan watched her go with private smile of amusement. The Head Archivist had interesting ways of showing her concern for her fellow Jedi. Rubbing his face wearily, the Jedi turned his attention back to the console and his research flashing across the screen. He had spent hours looking up information on the Military Creation Act, Senator Amidala's known associates and enemies in the senate, and even Amidala herself with little results.

As he scrolled once again for the list of senators, he saw no clue to who could have hired someone to kill her. The status update he received on the interrogation of the assassin stated that even after three days of questioning she had refused to crack. The best telepaths in the Order would continue their efforts, but much more and her mind might be permanently damaged, according to the Council.

They had caught one assassin, but it felt strangely as though they had taken several steps backward instead of forward. Either way, they needed to get to the bottom of this whole mess quickly, before one of the assassins succeeded in their task to kill Senator Amidala.

With a tired sigh, Obi-Wan cleared away the list of contacts, intending to look at them in more detail later, and began a search for known bounty hunters and criminals. If they couldn't find out who had hired the assassin currently on the detention level, maybe he could at least figure who she was working with.

The list turned out to be much longer than expected, and feeling a little exasperated, Obi-Wan settled himself for another long, mind-numbing night.

* * *

The Jedi tumbled to the ground with a quiet scream, blown several feet backwards from the force of the blaster bolt ripping into his chest from point blank range.

His lightsaber fell from his slack grip and rolled to a stop at Jango's feet. Scooping it up, the bounty hunter cautiously approached the fallen form at the edge of the shadows in the alley. In spite of the noise, no one had come. In the Undercity of Coruscant, murder was as common as rain. Once he reached the body, he crouched down and held two fingers to the pulse point, feeling nothing but stillness.

The Jedi was dead.

Shaking his head over how easy it was to ambush the Force-sensitive outside of the club where he had been traveling to meet with a contact, Jango quickly began tugging off the Jedi's robes. It felt a little cheap and underhanded, murdering someone in cold blood just for their clothes, but Jango ignored the small voice insisting he was more honorable than this. The scum was a _Jedi, _and the galaxy was better off without one more arrogant Force user waving a lightsaber around.

Holding the robes, he decided they would fit with a few small adjustments and folded them up, stuffing them into the pack he had brought for the occasion. That done, he deposited the pack on a small ledge several dozen feet off the ground and settled down next to it to wait for the other Jedi to figure out his friend wasn't coming and leave the club.

If he was going to get stupid Zam out alive, he would need another set of robes.

Fortunately, he didn't have to wait long. The Jedi exited the club quickly, lightsaber clutched in his hand and dark eyes scanning the shadows for threats. This one wasn't as stupid as his companion, it would seem. Pulling himself up into a crouch, Jango drew one of his blasters and leveled it at the Jedi, firing off several quick shots.

The Jedi raised his blade and deflected them with frustrating ease, forcing Jango to duck away as his own bolts were sent careening back in his direction. Forcing himself not to pause, he leapt from the ledge, igniting his jetpack and barreling directly for the Jedi, raining blaster fire down on the Force-sensitive.

The young man was more skilled than his older, slower friend, and fought back gallantly, but the addition of a jetpack to the fight obviously threw him off balance. He faltered for a critical second, and that was all Jango needed to bury two blaster bolts in his chest.

He let out a startled gasp and toppled to the ground, landing half in a dingy puddle near the mouth of the alley—only a few yards from his fallen comrade. Jango landed and impassively repeated the process of confirming his death and stripping him of his weapon and clothing.

An alarm would probably go up when the two didn't return from their mission investigating illegal swoop racing in the Undercity, but the fools in the Jedi Temple would probably blame their deaths on the wild gangs they had been sent to monitor. Stupid Jedi, thinking they could maintain peace in such a cutthroat galaxy.

Stuffing the second set of robes into the bag, Jango then hauled the two bodies deep into the alley and covered them with a sheet from a nearby trash bin, situating it so they blended in with the shadows. Unless someone came along with exceptional eyesight, they wouldn't be found until they started to smell.

Clutching the pack in one hand, the bounty hunter strode from the alley hurriedly. Finally, nearly a week after Zam's capture, everything was in place—all he needed to do was make some last minute adjustments to the robes and upload the blueprints into the navi-system in his armor.

Tomorrow night, he would head into the Jedi Temple itself.

* * *

"You look terrible, Obi-Wan."

He couldn't hide the worry leaking into his voice at his former master's weary and bedraggled appearance, visible even through the static and blue-tint of a hologram image. Pulling his robe tighter around himself, Obi-Wan sent him a humorless smile.

"Thank you for that lovely greeting, Anakin," he remarked dryly, voice dripping with enough sarcasm to make Anakin wince.

Deciding not to throw back an insult of his own, he perched himself on the arm of one of Amidala's sofas and regarded the other Jedi solemnly. "How goes the investigation?"

Obi-Wan grimaced. "Not good, I'm afraid. Our assassin is being rather stubborn about revealing any details about her employer and any potential cohorts she might have. How goes protection duty?"

Anakin mimicked Obi-Wan's grimace. "Not good. There was another attempt today—a sniper as the senator was arriving at the Senate Building."

"Did you catch him?"

Anakin shook his head miserably. "No. I couldn't trace the bolt and I couldn't sense him. There were too many people around."

Obi-Wan stroked his beard in a familiar gesture. "Hmm. Well, it seems we can definitely go with the assumption that our friend wasn't working alone."

"Or these are rivals," Anakin pointed out. "It's impossible to know for sure."

"I agree. Not until we get more out of the assassin." Obi-Wan pulled a chair into view and sank into it. Knights and Padawans passing in the background indicated that he was probably in the Archives, and, Anakin suspected, had been there for some time.

Anakin leaned forward, placing his hands on his knees to maintain his balance. "I've brought up the idea of leaving Coruscant with Senator Amidala. I think I would be better able to protect her in a more remote location. Coruscant is too … chaotic."

"What did she say?"

Anakin sighed. "She disagreed. She refuses to leave the capital until the Military Creation Act has been voted on. Apparently, she's been a major part of the more _vocal _opposition for over a year."

"When is the vote?" Obi-Wan asked, glancing down at a datapad in his hand with a frown.

"Sometime in the next two weeks. I'm not sure." Realization dawned. "Do you think the people who hired the killers are connected to the Military Creation Act in some way?"

"It's a good place to start." Obi-Wan messed with the datapad for a moment before meeting Anakin's eyes again. "I have a list of people who might have a reason to want Senator Amidala dead and many of them are supporters of the Military Creation Act. But again, it is impossible to know for sure."

"Yeah," Anakin agreed, clenching his gloved hand. "So we have nothing but assumptions."

"Patience," Obi-Wan cautioned, and how did he always know when the dragon began stirring in Anakin's heart? "You've done a fine job of protecting her so far, Anakin. Don't worry about catching more assassins. Just make her security and safety your primary concern and I'm sure that you will be able to keep her unharmed until after the vote."

Anakin smiled a little at the warmth spreading in his chest from Obi-Wan's confidence in him. It help soothe some of the doubts plaguing him. "All right, I'll do my best. In the meantime, catch whoever's behind this."

"That's the plan, Anakin," Obi-Wan replied cheerfully. "May the Force be with you."

Anakin felt his smile widen. "May the Force be with you. And get some rest."

Obi-Wan nodded with a familiar reassuring smile that meant he would be doing just the opposite of the advice and cut off the transmission, leaving Anakin alone in the cool darkness of Amidala's apartment.

Anakin patted R2 as he jumped from the couch and wandered out onto the balcony. Staring at the Coruscanti lights, he couldn't shake the sense that they were running out of time.

Until what, he didn't know. If he was honest with himself, he was afraid to find out.

* * *

**Dun, dun, DUN. Hopefully everything is believable. It's very hard to write about certain things in the Star Wars Universe, such as the Jedi Temple, because there is little information provided on them. We get glimpses and not much more. So, if you need reasons and justifications for why Jango's plan would work, I'd be happy to provide them. Or you could just allow me a little creative license. :3 **

**Next update coming soon/when I have free time/when I have any time/hopefully not too long/eventually/someday/in the distant future. But it IS coming. :) **


	6. At the Crossroad

**I have absolutely no excuses to offer. Nothing but the deepest apologies. Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last few chapters and thank you for your patience. You all are amazing. :D **

**Now, the story goes on, and you WILL review ... please?**

* * *

The Jedi Temple was quiet and dark, slowly settling into sleep as the sun set on the city-strewn horizon. Within one dark wing, a lone figure exited a small room tucked into the shadows, shutting and locking the door shut behind him. Out in the still hallway, he sighed softly, rubbing large fingers across the leathery, knotted skin on his forehead. Mental exhaustion was tugging insistently at him and he knew to continue tonight would be dangerous for him and his subject.

Something moved in the shadows.

Yellow eyes shifted quickly to the source as one hand darted toward the lightsaber on his belt before a familiar signature flickered across his consciousness, alerting him to the identity of the newcomer.

Dropping his hand, he drew himself up and shrugged off his weariness as best as he was able. "Master Kenobi."

The younger Jedi stepped into the hallway with a pleasant smile. "My apologies for startling you, Master Tiin. I merely came for news on the prisoner."

The Iktotchi master sighed again and shook his horned head. "Nothing. I was only able to learn that she is not working alone. She is stubborn. A Clawdite's mind is not an easy thing to infiltrate."

Obi-Wan frowned, stroking his trim beard in contemplation. "Do you think you will be able to get anything more from her?"

Hating to admit defeat, especially as the strongest telepath in the Jedi Order, Saesee Tiin reluctantly shook his head once more. "No. I don't think so. It would be dangerous to her health to continue. She might end up mentally paralyzed or dead."

Obi-Wan nodded, looking infinitely tired, as well. "I suspected as much, but thank you for your efforts, Master Tiin."

Saesee smiled stiffly, but not unkindly. "You're welcome, Master Kenobi. I hope you find what you're looking for." With a small bow of acknowledgement, the Iktotchi departed, swallowed quickly by the growing shadows.

Alone with the darkness, Obi-Wan took a cautious step forward and peered through the small window into the secure cell where the bounty hunter sat chained against the far wall. So far, she had mostly maintained her human form when not in questioning and her blond hair hung disheveled around her shoulders and across her forehead—slick with sweat from her recent session with Master Tiin. She looked exhausted and pale, but she still lifted her head from the wall and glared at him—defiant and unbroken and likely to remain so.

After all, it had been close to a week and they had uncovered nothing.

Knowing it was futile to try when Master Tiin, whose skill far exceeded his own, had failed, Obi-Wan turned away from the cell and began the trek back to his quarters. Tomorrow morning, he would have to face the Jedi Council empty-handed and wait while they planned their next move.

He was not exactly looking forward to it, but perhaps a night of rest and meditation would ease his troubled mind and give him some clarity.

On the other side of the Temple, a lithe figure dressed in typical Jedi brown emerged from a quiet service hallway, pulling his cloak low over his face. Glancing to the left and right and seeing nothing but empty hallways, the figure stepped out into the dim light of the Temple night lamps and quickly began his descent to the detention level.

Obi-Wan Kenobi paused just outside the lifts, feeling a murmur of distress that prickled down the back of his spine like ice. With narrowed eyes, the Jedi turned and scanned the hallway, seeing nothing but shifting shadows.

* * *

They were running out of time.

In the three days since the sniper outside the senate, there had been two more attempts—a rigged speeder that would have blown them both to smithereens had he not gotten them out in time, and another sniper close to 500 Republic. Now, as the sun was beginning to set below the buildings, Anakin paced the senator's apartment, feeling paranoid and hating the weakness that came with jumping at shadows.

The argument over whether she should leave Coruscant had continued in earnest, but Amidala still refused to leave until the vote on the Military Creation Act, which was in close to a week.

Anakin could care less about the Military Creation Act. His priority was Senator Amidala and here, on this mass of skyscrapers and vantage points and shadows, he couldn't protect her to the full extent of his ability. At the rate things were going, there was a strong chance she would be dead long before the Act was passed or failed and he would be shipped off the some remote planet by the Council to serve out his exile.

Sighing, Anakin rubbed a tired hand across his face, feeling the familiar rough edges of his scars. One room over, Senator Amidala was shifting through speeches and other documentation at her desk—her back to the mounted camera. She looked calm and serene, but he could still detect a minute tremble in her hand and easily picked up on the tension radiating from her into the Force. Today's attack had shaken her more than she would admit.

This couldn't go on.

Anakin turned sharply to the astromech idling in the corner. "R2, patch a message through to the Jedi Temple. See if you can reach Obi-Wan."

The droid beeped happily and hurried to comply. When Obi-Wan's image didn't immediately appear, Anakin frowned and checked the chrono on the wall. It was well past midnight, surely his former master would have retired to his quarters by now. "Obi-Wan, do you copy? Obi-Wan, are you there? Come in."

Nothing.

Growling in frustration, the Jedi backed up a step and raked a hand through his hair, fighting off the urge to put his mechanical fist through the nicely-painted wall. Obi-Wan was off doing who knew what, and he didn't particularly feel like dealing with the Council at the moment—since they would probably see his poking into the interrogation of the assassin and asking for guidance as complaining of some kind—but another attack could happen at any moment.

Another attack he was terrified he wouldn't be able to prevent.

Shivering from the strength of the inner storm raging through him, Anakin decided that meditation was his only current option—unless he wanted to go Dark Side or something catastrophic like that. He'd never been particularly good at meditation, but he was desperate enough to give it a try. With a deep breath, he sank to the floor in the middle of the spacious room, crossing his legs and letting his muscles relax like Obi-Wan had always tried to show him. If only his former master could see him now…

He shook off the thought and mentally prepared himself, fixing one part of his senses on the senator's room in case there were any new signs of danger. Then, with another deep breath, he plunged into the depths of the Force.

* * *

His hands were sweating beneath his gloves and his stomach churned uneasily as he swiftly made his way down the carpeted stairs. Normally, he never felt this pressured or nervous on a job, but this was different. This was the _Jedi Temple_—the haven of the arrogant fools who had slain the last of his people over a decade ago and now stood in the powerhouses of the Galaxy as if they ruled it. He _loathed _the Jedi, and to be so close to them—to pretend to _be _one of them—was making him uneasy.

Stupid Zam. He had half a mind to put a blaster bolt in her skull as soon as her saw her in retaliation for all the trouble she'd put him through.

The lamps flickered softly as he turned a corner, glancing down at the blueprint pulsing on his wrist display. Two more levels down and he would be in the detention center. Since Zam was the only prisoner in the moment, it would also be quiet—hopefully.

Otherwise, he would be more than happy to knock a couple of Jedi senseless.

The first staircase wound around in a descending curve and he took the stairs two at a time, seeing no one in the immediate area. So far, his robe and cowl covering his face and the stolen lightsaber clipped to his belt had prevented anyone from asking questions. The outer cloak also conveniently hid the blaster burn on the tunic he hadn't managed to repair.

Adjusting the robes, he kept his head down as he passed a wandering Knight in the hallway, returning the nod of greeting before he continued on his way. Fortunately, the Temple was huge and the Jedi didn't all know each other—and their security was terrible. He was almost certain that the entrances to the shafts were ray shielded, but by the time they got around to tracking him, he would hopefully be long gone.

Blind arrogance could be a blessing, after all.

The last staircase was through a nondescript door on the left side of the grand hallway, twisting metal stairs leading down into the dark—lit only by feeble glowlamps looking like they were made back during the Sith Empire. Snorting to himself about the lack of efficiency and maintenance, the Mandalorian cautiously made his way to the detention level, keeping one hand pressed firmly against the wall for balance, since the Jedi didn't seem to believe in handrails. They probably relied on their mysterious Force if they fell.

At last the detention level spread out before him—a large hallway lined with cell doors and lacking light. The place had a rarely used look, which also most likely meant little security—just as he had anticipated. Unsure of which cell was Zam's, he moved down the line, peering into each one and feeling so foolish he wanted to blast himself. He hated being this unprepared.

He finally spotted her near the end of the row on the right hand side, curled up in a corner and looking pitiful. Frowning, Jango rapped softly against the window and was pleased to see her head snap up—eyes going alert instantly in spite of the exhaustion clear in them. When she saw him, her face hardened and she pressed herself further against the back wall, shaking her head furiously.

Rolling his eyes beneath his hood, Jango ignored her in favor of cracking the lock using a handy device he'd picked up from a shifty Toydarian in the Undercity. In less than thirty seconds, the door hissed open, allowing him inside.

"No!" Zam spat as soon as he crossed the threshold. "No more mind games, Jedi! I've already told you, you'll get _nothing _out of me."

With a flick of his hand, Jango pulled back the hood and leveled Zam with a threatening glare. The Clawdite's lips parted in shock. "J-Jango?"

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't shoot you right now, Zam," Jango hissed, pointing an accusing finger at her.

Zam gave him a shaky smile, still somehow as cocky as ever. "Because you would miss me, Jango."

Jango didn't return the smile. "Right. I would miss you," he echoed in a deadpan, pulling a wince from her. "Keep telling yourself that, and get up. We're getting out of here, then you can repay me for your _mistake." _Another wince, but Zam nodded.

"It's good to know you care, Jango," she said in a cheerful tone that grated on his already raw nerves as he bent to slice through her cuffs with the small laser torch he'd tucked into the robe. She flinched at the heat, but didn't struggle, allowing the cuffs fall away and rubbing circulation back into her wrists.

"Get up," he demanded again, hauling her to her feet by one arm.

She glared at him. "Forgive me for being a little sore after a _week _in a cell being subjected to all sorts of mind tricks. What took you so long?"

"Be glad I came to get you at all," Jango retorted, throwing her the second set of robes and a blaster. "Now change your appearance and put those on."

As he turned around to give her some privacy, he heard the telltale rustling of cloth and small grunts of pain as she complied to his orders. "Just out of curiosity, how did you get in here?"

"Blueprints. Don't ask. Won't tell."

"Fine." Zam sounded disappointed, but Jango held his silence—still a little occupied with the idea of a blaster bolt to her skull for all this trouble. "Then, how are we going to get out?"

"Same way I got in. Just follow my lead."

"Fine," Zam repeated, but he had to hold back a jerk of surprise when her voice shifted into a range and inflection that was definitely _male. _

Turning quickly, he found himself staring up at grinning, weathered Jedi Knight sporting long white hair and a matching beard.

"How is this?" Zam asked, doing a small spin.

"Good enough," he replied gruffly, refusing to tolerate her theatrics. "Let's go. We're running out of time."

Zam shrugged her outer robe over her now broad shoulders with a solemn nod. "Fine by me. I'm sick of this cell."

They exited quickly, and Jango closed the doors and keyed in the locking code. Hopefully, no one would bother to check on the prisoner until morning when they were long gone.

"All right," Jango murmured to Zam as they set off down the corridor. "We need to go up three levels and then down to the service hall on the far side."

Zam glanced around them with what looked a little too much like anxiety for his liking. If they were going to pull this off, he needed his idiot partner _calm, _at least. "That's a long way to walk."

"I made it here just fine, didn't I?" Jango picked up the pace, cutting through the shadows quickly. "Besides, the stairs are much less traveled than the lifts."

Zam took three large strides to catch up with him, and he mentally scowled at her increased size and height advantage. Did she have to pick the tallest Jedi in the Order to mimic? "If you say so. You're the one with the blueprints."

She still didn't sound very convinced, but he ignored her, preferring to scan his surroundings again as he neared the lifts. Just on the other side of them were the stairs. If he could make it there…

Something darted across his peripheral vision. Cursing in every language he knew, he slowed down, motioning for Zam to do the same, and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his robe, trying his best to look nonchalant. Sure enough, less than a second later, a Jedi emerged from the darkness by the lifts—the pathetic light casting most of his face into shadow, but Jango could still make out a trim beard and piercing blue eyes.

This Jedi seemed familiar.

Beside him, Zam stiffened subtly—one hand curling into a fist at her side.

"Hello," the Jedi greeted them pleasantly, and Jango breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't seem to suspect them. Yet. "Is everything all right, masters?"

"Everything's fine," Jango replied, struggling to match the Jedi's cordial tone. "We just couldn't sleep and decided to take a walk."

The Jedi frowned, tilting his head to the side in a universal gesture of curiosity and suspicion. "On the detention level?"

Jango held his casual stance, aware of Zam winding up like a tripwire and knowing the situation was about to derail. Maybe, he could keep the explosion to a minimum. "Yeah. Sorry about that. I haven't been back to the Temple in quite awhile. I was deployed on a long-term mission into the Outer Rim, and now, in the dark I must've gotten turned around. Before I knew it, we were all the way down on the detention level."

The Jedi wasn't buying it. "Why didn't you say anything to him?" He glanced at Zam—the frown etched firmly onto his face. "With all due respect, the detention level is restricted to authorized Knights and Masters only."

Jango's eyes flicked down to the Jedi's hand hovering close to his lightsaber, ready to draw at a moment's notice, and tensed. The situation had spiraled far beyond a peaceful solution. Seeing no other option, the bounty hunter lunged forward and brained the Jedi over the head with the butt of the blaster strapped to his arm beneath the large sleeve of his robe.

The man had no time to react. With a gasp of pain, he crumpled to the floor in a boneless heap of limbs and brown fabric. Jango snorted, bending to check his vitals. Jedi clothing made it ridiculously easy to conceal weapons.

"Jango!" Zam snapped from behind him as he straightened. "What are you thinking?"

"He was on to us," Jango said tersely, slipping the unconscious man's lightsaber from his belt and tucking it into his own tunic. Then, with a grunt, he bent and hefted the Jedi upright, supporting him with an arm around his waist.

"What are you _doing?_!" Zam cried in alarm, hurrying forward in a nervous flutter of limbs. "We can't take him with us!"

"We have to." Jango readjusted his grip on the Jedi, propping him more upright. "We need him to get paid, Zam."

"That's Obi-Wan Kenobi. He's a candidate for the Jedi Council! They'll chase us to the end of the galaxy to get him back!"

"So because they care about him so much, they won't risk his death, either. He's our ticket off planet. And he'll be out of our hands soon anyway. Now, let's move. They'll realize we're here any minute now."

Leaving no room for argument, Jango turned and made his way back to the lifts, deciding that dragging a body up three levels of stairs wasn't worth the effort. Truthfully, this hadn't been part of the plan, but he wanted the hefty sum his employer had offered and now was probably the best opportunity he would have to complete the man's other demand. However, they couldn't haul a body through the vents without raising too much noise. That left only option:

The front entrance.

His hands were sweating again, and the nausea was back. Zam had better make herself _incredibly _useful for all this. Or he would shoot her anyway, if only to see her squirm.

"Where are we going?" Speaking of Zam. Jango sighed sharply as he pressed the button for the lifts and once again shifted the Jedi to a more comfortable position.

"Up." The lift arrived with a soft ding and Jango shuffled inside, alternating between cursing the robes tangling around his legs and the dead weight of a Jedi in his arms.

Zam hovered close behind, looking like she couldn't decide whether to be worried or furious with him, but she held her silence—which was good for her health and continued status of life—as the lift doors closed and the floors began to tick upward toward the main level. They were only two floors away from their destination when the Jedi—Obi-Wan Kenobi according to Zam, but they were all the same to him—began to stir. Jango briefly debated knocking him out again, but it would look a little suspicious to lug an unconscious Jedi Master out the front door, so he tightened his grip on the Jedi's arm as he blinked groggily at his surroundings.

His eyes widened as he began to understand the predicament he was currently in, but he wisely didn't fight when Jango's grip became bruising and the bounty hunter leaned over to whisper in his ear, "Don't try anything, Jedi. Try to run and there'll be a blaster bolt through your skull before you can get ten paces."

"Who are you?" The Jedi asked—his voice slightly slurred, suggesting at least a mild concussion. Jango didn't care as long as the man could walk.

"None of your business." The lift halted with a brief jolt and the doors slid open, revealing the quiet, cavernous main hallway.

The Jedi's eyes widened again as he saw the lights of Coruscant glimmering through the partially open front entrance. Zam moved to his other side to prevent him from running while Jango increased his grip to bone-crushing levels, drawing a wince out of Force wielder.

"Here's the deal. We're going to walk out of here, and you're going to come with us. Don't try anything. If anyone asks questions tell them you need to go check on Senator Amidala. Nothing more, or I shoot them and you."

Jango was slightly satisfied when the Jedi nodded reluctantly, looking anything but cooperative but with a concussion, two enemies holding him, and his lightsaber clipped to Jango's belt, he didn't really stand a chance. Jango prodded him forward, and the trio began their journey down the hallway. Everything was quiet and the hall remained empty—no signs of patrolling Jedi or even heavy security, prompting another inward snort at Jedi arrogance from the Mandalorian. Really, infiltrating the place had been too easy—maybe the idiots relied on their mysterious Force for security.

They were less than five feet away from freedom when a voice echoed from behind them. "Master Kenobi, where are you going?"

The group halted, exchanging tense glances. Jango leveled his best warning glare at the Jedi, while Zam shifted closer to him, letting him feel the blaster she pressed against his back. They turned as one to face an inquisitive Padawan, who had the wide-eyed, perpetually sleep-deprived look of an insomniac. Hopefully, the kid would be easy to fool.

Nudging the frozen Jedi, he watched as Kenobi plastered on his best reassuring smile. "I couldn't sleep, same as you, Whie. So I thought I would go check on Senator Amidala, the woman me and Knight Skywalker are guarding. These two," he nodded at Jango and Zam, "volunteered to come along for extra security."

The man wasn't a half bad liar, Jango was grudgingly forced to admit as he watched the kid, Whie, nod slowly. "Oh, I see. Well, have a good night, then, Master Kenobi. And say hi to Knight Skywalker for me!"

"I will," Obi-Wan promised, keeping his tone even and somehow managing to hide the subtle slur still hindering his words. "Good-night, young one."

The boy turned and headed back into the recesses of the Temple, probably to his quarters. Once he was swallowed up the night's shadows, the three breathed faint sighs of relief and stumbled out into the Coruscanti night. As they descended the steps of the Temple, Kenobi turned to glare at him—all cooperation and cordiality gone.

"You do know that as soon as the Jedi realize I haven't come back and the prisoner," he jerked his head in Zam's direction, and Jango unfortunately had to add smart to his assessment of the Force sensitive, "is gone, they won't stop looking until they find me, correct?"

Jango picked up the pace, making the Jedi trip down several steps and feeling a little satisfaction at the scowl that crossed those inscrutable features. "Not my problem, Jedi. Hopefully by the time your Council realizes that you aren't with this Knight Skywalker of yours, we'll be long gone."

"And where are you taking me, exactly?" The Jedi demanded as they boarded a hovering shuttle at the end of the Temple street and he was forced into a seat between the two bounty hunters—Jango's bruising grip still on his arm and a blaster digging into his side.

Jango shot Kenobi a humorless smile. "Nowhere special."

Realizing he wouldn't be getting any answers out of either bounty hunter, Kenobi fell silent, closing his eyes. Jango, always wary of Jedi tricks, yanked hard on his arm, startling him back into the present. When blue eyes blinked at him in puzzlement, he glowered threateningly.

"No tricks, and no calling for help. They'll just end up dying with you." The Jedi bit his lip, frustration passing across his face for an instant, but nodded after a tense moment, settling back in his seat.

His eyes stayed open, watching Coruscant pass in a blur of lights and sounds out the window. For the moment, Jango was satisfied.

* * *

Anakin's eyes opened slowly and he struggled to his feet, swaying a little as his right leg protested at being woken from sleep. A glance at the chrono showed 4 a.m. in blinking, florescent numbers, and he shook feeling back into his left hand as he twisted to look at the cameras. The senator was sound asleep in her bed and there were no signs of danger.

That didn't change his decision in the slightest.

His breath was shaky as it left his lungs, but his resolve remained strong—in spite of the absolute, complete and utter craziness of the plan he was contemplating. If the senator didn't kill him, the Council surely would—or at least Mace Windu would probably murder him in his sleep—but he couldn't see any other way to keep her safe. The Jedi were stretched thin enough as it was, he couldn't ask for more back up, and with his wonderful reputation as a deserter—and a Sith to those few who knew the truth—he doubted another Knight would be willing to work with him, anyway.

Still, it never hurt to be safe.

"R2," the little astromech whirred to life and wheeled his way out of the corner he'd been powered down in, "record a message for me. Give it to no one but the Jedi Council or Obi-Wan and only if they ask for it. I'd rather be safe than sorry, here."

The droid beeped an affirmative and aimed his recording arm at Anakin, who straightened and did his best to look professional in spite of his rumpled clothes and bird's nest hair. "This is Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker. I wish to inform you, Masters, that due to increasing threats on the life of Senator Amidala, I have taken her to a safer location in the Outer Rim. I will return when I have been given word that it is safe and the assassins have been dealt with." He bowed low at the end, hoping that would at least appease Mace enough to make him settle on taking another limb instead of outright killing him.

R2 shut off his recording arm with another series of beeps, and Anakin smiled, liking the spunky little droid. "Thanks, R2. And don't worry, I'll keep the senator safe."

He turned toward Amidala's quarters, but was a little surprised when the droid rolled after him. He stopped in front of the hallway leading to the senator's room and held out a firm

hand, shaking his head. "No, R2, I'm afraid you can't come. You've got to stay here and look after Dormé and the others for me, okay?"

The little guy sounded sad as he whirred away, and Anakin felt a stab of guilt, but unfortunately the astromech would only slow them down. Pausing long enough to make sure the droid had powered down in the corner again, he slipped down the hallway to the senator's door and quietly slid it open with the Force, overriding the lock a little too easily. He should tell her to get that fixed—though really, how many Force sensitive assassins were there in the Galaxy?

She continued to sleep peacefully as he approached the bed—her curly hair spread out all over the pillow and her shoulders visible above the blankets. She looked almost angelic in the moonlight, and he stopped to let himself feel breathless for a moment. Why did Amidala have to be so beautiful? Beautiful and stubborn and strong, just like _she _had always been. A vibroknife felt like it was digging into his chest, and for a few seconds he was breathless for entirely different reasons. Once he had managed to slam the pain and grief back down into the box he kept them locked safely away in, he forced himself forward.

Hovering carefully over Amidala's bed, he moved his flesh hand toward her face slowly. He was inches away when her brown eyes flew open and she jerked partially upright, looking around in fear and surprise. He cursed, but managed to hold onto his calm, even when she turned to him with wide, questioning eyes.

"Is something wrong, Knight Skywalker?"

He smiled sadly at her and pressed a gentle but firm hand to her forehead, keeping it there when she recoiled instinctively.

"I'm sorry, senator." He closed his eyes and drew on the Force, urging her into sleep.

When he dared a glance at her through half-lidded eyes, he saw accusing, shocked brown orbs staring back before she collapsed onto the bed in a graceless heap of limbs and curly hair. He fought down his guilt at betraying her trust in such a horrible way, but it was for her own good, even if she didn't see it that way. He'd promised to keep her safe and he'd dealt with nothing but death for the past four and a half years. He was tired of blood and pain and grieving, so come hell or high water she was _not _dying on his watch—no matter how stubborn and annoying and demanding she was.

Leaving the senator on the bed, the Jedi Knight turned hurriedly to her massive closet, gaping at the endless array of clothes. Sithspit, how was he supposed to know what to pack? Grimacing, he waded into the swamp of dresses in search of a bag. Finally finding one tucked away into a corner, he opened it and set it down in the middle of the closest floor before attempting to tackle the endless wardrobe.

Why did politicians need so many _clothes? _

He practically tore through the racks, trying his best not to damage any of the fine gowns and robes as he looked for more practical, less-noticeable attire. At last he found a few suitable dresses and several shirts and pants in the back of the closest, hidden behind some intricately embroidered cloaks. He yanked them from the hangers and stuffed them into the bag—barely bothering to fold them. A few pairs of shoes went on top—mostly boots and what looked as close to travel shoes as he could find—and he added a toothbrush he found in the fresher before zipping up the bag.

Then, he hurriedly unclipped his lightsaber and shoved it into a side pocket of the bag. Sparing a glance to make sure the senator was safely unconscious, he changed quickly into the civilian clothes she'd insisted he wear whenever they were out in public, leaving his robes on the floor of her closet.

Amidala lay still amidst her covers and pillows when he emerged from the closet with the bag over his shoulder—the only sign of life the even rise and fall of her chest. With a steadying breath, he carefully lifted her off the bed, cradling her in his arms. The tricky part would be getting her down to the landing pad without anyone noticing.

Keying open the main door to her suite with the Force, he stepped out into the hallway and took another deep breath. Here went nothing.

Four very confused, mind-tricked security guards and senators later, Anakin gently lowered Amidala into the passenger seat of a speeder on the landing pad, realizing that this would be the second speeder in less than a week that the Jedi had "borrowed" from 500 Republica. Hopefully, the senators wouldn't mind if he promised them it was for the greater good of the Galaxy.

He hotwired the speeder easily and pulled out into traffic, heading for the docking district where the commercial freighters came and went in an endless stream—Padmé Amidala looking peacefully asleep next to him.

He refused to think about what she would look like when she woke up, or the expressions on the faces of the Council Members when they heard the news.

* * *

**MISC NOTES: **

The Temple Break-In: Very little is revealed about the Jedi Temple and how it is set up. So, I based Jango's break-in strategy off of two known ones: Cad Bane's in the Clone Wars TV series, and the Old Republic trailer. Hopefully, it will be believable.


	7. Aggressive Negotiations

**So yeah. It's been awhile. Sorry. **

**The plot is moving right along, though. So that's ... good?**

**Please review, if you feel so inclined. Feedback is always appreciated. And great motivation. **

**Oh, sorry if Padme seems jerkish. Most of it is Anakin's perceptions, anyway. And she's kinda got a right...**

_

* * *

Thud! _

Anakin bit back a cry of pain as something solid slammed into his back, sending him sprawling onto the cold floor of the cargo freighter hold. His cheek hit the metal hard enough to make him wince and he barely had time to shield his face from another object hurtling out of the dark. For a brief instant, he wondered if he was somehow under attack, even though he was locked in the hold of a ship in the middle of hyperspace.

Then a voice raked against his ears—vicious and steely. "How _dare _you?"

Ah, Senator Amidala was awake.

Tamping down on his irritation, Anakin pushed himself up into a sitting position and ducked from what looked to be a wrench twirling toward his head. In the dim lighting of the cargo hold he could just make out her white nightdress and furious expression. Something glinted in her hand, ready to be thrown, and he held up his hands in placating surrender.

"Calm down." His hopes that she would relax when she realized it was him and not an assassin were dashed when something solid punched into his stomach, knocking the air from him.

"You _stupid _Jedi! You _kidnapped _me. How could you? I thought you were supposed to be _protecting _me!"

Once he had managed to pull some oxygen back into his lungs, he stood slowly, wary of anything else she might have armed herself with. There weren't any crates of blasters down here, hopefully. "It was for your own protection. Coruscant was becoming too dangerous."

Sure enough, he barely dodged a box of something in response to his attempt at making peace. She had the quite the arm, for a politician. "You gave me your _word _that we would not leave Coruscant until the vote. I did not work for a _year _to defeat the Military Creation Act only to _not _be there when its fate is decided!"

He could feel his patience rapidly eroding. "Well, I'm afraid that isn't an option anymore, Senator. In order to properly keep you safe, I had to get you away from Coruscant."

"Without my consent?" She sounded livid, but at least she hadn't thrown anything else … yet. "That is _abduction, _and against the law. Which you are not above, Jedi or not. So I demand that you take me back to Coruscant immediately!"

"I can't!" Anakin snapped back—Jedi reserve cracking and crumbling in the face of her unyielding hostility. "This is a cargo ship and it won't be stopped until it reaches its destination."

"Which is?"

"Somewhere in the Outer Rim."

"The Outer Rim!" A small case of screws came flying toward his torso. "How is the Outer Rim, a breeding ground for lowlifes and bounty hunters, safer than Coruscant?"

Irritated, he reached out and stopped the case with the Force, letting it hover almost threateningly between them and silently daring her to throw anything else. "Will you please stop throwing things? The Outer Rim is more isolated than Coruscant and I know it better. I promise you, I will be able to protect you better out there."

"I think I've had enough of your _promises, _Anakin Skywalker." Her voice was as sharp as vibroblades, cutting into his skin. "And you don't even know what planet this ship is going to. Also, stowing away on cargo ships is _illegal, _just like kidnapping. And I'm still in my nightclothes!"

Ah, she'd noticed. Great.

Anakin shifted his weight nervously—a little surprised that she didn't seem to have any more ammunition for the moment. "Y-yeah. Sorry about that. I didn't have time to get you changed."

Something glanced off his shoulder, forcing him to drop the case and let out a faint hiss of pain and frustration. Scratch the no ammo theory. "So you plan to drag me through the Outer Rim in my nightgown? I'm sure _that _will keep us from being noticed."

"Will you stop _throwing _things? I brought clothes." He angrily pointed at the bag at his feet, caring little if she could see the gesture or not.

To his relief, she approached him cautiously—and in the light he could see the wrench clutched in a white-knuckled grip, but at least he would able to know faster when she was going to throw. When she stood only about a foot away, he could clearly make out the tangled mess of her hair spilling down her back, the dirt stains on her once pristine nightgown, and the sparks spitting from her dark brown eyes.

She looked every inch a queen.

Raising the wrench threateningly, she indicated for him to move back. With a sharp sigh and a probably overdramatic roll of his eyes, he complied, giving her room to crouch over the bag. She rummaged through the bag quickly—and he ignored the barb about his lack of folding skills she threw in his direction—before quickly pulling out a pair of dark, loose-fitting pants and an equally baggy light green tunic with a black belt. She didn't seem offended at his choice of clothes, only his way of packing them, which was a bit of a relief.

Once she had gathered the bundle into her arms—still clutching the wrench—she glared at him. "Would you mind giving me some privacy?"

He huffed and turned around. "If you insist, milady."

He heard cloth rustling behind him and occupied himself with studying the crates on the surrounding shelves, trying to guess their contents based on the shape and size. The soft sounds had almost stopped when a wrench hit his back, pitching him forward several fumbling steps. He whirled to glare at Amidala innocently tying the band of black material around her waist.

"What was that for?" He demanded with clenched fists and gritted teeth. Insufferable woman.

She arched an eyebrow at him. "For going through my things without my permission, managing to choose clothes I haven't worn since I was fourteen, and then ruining said clothes by not taking time to fold them. Oh, and for kidnapping me in the first place."

"Forgive me for being in a hurry, _milady," _Anakin snapped. "And how was I supposed to know what you wore when you were fourteen? Stop acting like a spoiled politician."

"Spoiled politician?" Amidala's eyes darkened with black fury. "How would you feel, _Master Jedi, _if you woke up on a cargo freighter, bound for who _knows_ where, with someone you _barely_ know and _no_ recollection of how you got there?"

He had to concede that point to her. Perhaps, he could have planned this out a little better, but then again strategy had never been his forte. Deciding it would be pointless to continue arguing, he dipped his head in a way he hoped would convey an apology. He would rather be raked over hot coals, _again, _than say the words out loud and admit defeat to this stubborn politician.

"Maybe you have a point."

Amidala scoffed. "Maybe?"

Anakin shrugged and glanced at shifting shadows around them, ending the argument before it could turn explosive again. He already had enough bruises from the good senator's earlier projectiles. "I suggest you get some, rest, Senator. We have a bit of a journey ahead of us."

"Once we land you are taking me back to Coruscant." She crossed her arms and stuck out her chin, pinning with a demanding stare he felt burn against his skin with its intensity.

"We'll see, Senator," he hedged. "We can discuss more when we land."

"I don't see how there is anything to discuss, but fine." And with that, she turned her back to him and marched off into the darkness—her footfalls echoing fainter and fainter as she moved further away.

He let her go with one last sigh that lingered long after it left his lips.

* * *

She wanted to kill him—to wring his neck and watch him struggle for air, deprived at last of all his steel and stubbornness and Jedi reserve.

What gave him the _right? _What made him so presumptuous that he thought he could just whisk her away to wherever he saw fit in the name of "protecting" her? With an angry sigh, she finally paused by a large shelving unit near the back of the cargo hold, trying to get some of her unruly hair out of her eyes. If only Knight Skywalker had possessed the foresight to bring a hairbrush along.

Just thinking about him made her blood boil. She had thought they were beginning to reach an understanding. Things had been getting easier, lighter and free of the heavy tension that dominated their first few interactions. But now?

With an undiplomatic snarl of frustration, Padmé hit the shelving next to her with all her strength. Instantly pain spiked up through her hand and arm, but she felt mildly better. Hopefully her stupid Jedi protector wouldn't come running at all the noise she'd just made.

She remained poised and tense for a long moment, listening, but nothing greeted her ears except oppressive, cool silence. Breathing a faint sigh of relief, she leaned back against the shelving unit. Suddenly, her legs felt insubstantial to support her weight, like jelly and she was forced to grip the iron side of the shelving to keep herself upright—a little stunned at the onslaught of exhaustion.

Maybe it was a lingering aftereffect of being put to sleep by way of the Force.

Faint footfalls pierced the calm, and Padmé bit back a groan of irritation at Knight Skywalker's less-than-spectacular sense of timing. Didn't the man understand the concept of privacy? Apparently not, for just as she raised her head to peer into the darkness he rounded the corner, slipping from the shadows into the small circle of light provided by the feeble glowlamps.

She ignored the dark circles under his eyes, the paleness of his skin, and the way his scars stood out in angry lines of red across his face in favor of the rigid set of his shoulders and the pride that leaked into every step. Better that she stand her ground than feel something like pity for him—hero or not.

"What do you want?" she snapped, trying to disguise the fact that she could barely stand.

He paused too close for her comfort and regarded her with solemn eyes lacking their earlier fire. "I sensed your distress. I just wanted to make sure that you had recovered fully."

"From when you kidnapped me?" She felt a small hint of uncharacteristic satisfaction at his subtle flinch and the flare of irritation that ran across his endless eyes.

"For the last time, that was for your own safety," he said, a familiar edge to his voice. Then, to her surprise, he sighed and raked gloved fingers through his hair. Why he wore a glove only on his right hand she couldn't understand. "Forget it. Are you alright?" She didn't like the spark of genuine concern she thought she caught in his gaze, if only for a second.

"I'm fine," she insisted, bracing herself against the shelving with sweaty palms and white knuckles.

He arched an eyebrow, but didn't counter her rather pathetic lie—instead fished around for something in his pocket. She tensed instinctively, but when he pulled his hand free he was only clutching a ration bar, which he offered to her.

"You should eat."

She almost claimed she wasn't hungry, but her stomach chose that moment to give off a low rumble, betraying her. She sighed and snatched the bar from his hand, deciding not to cross the line from irritated to irrational. As she unwrapped the bar more hurriedly than her pride would usually allow—having food in her hands suddenly highlighted the force of her hunger—she kept her gaze on Knight Skywalker, waiting for him to either leave or ask something else of her.

He said nothing, merely stared into the limited space between them as though it held the secrets of the universe—his eyes inward focused and lightyears away from the dingy cargo hold.

"What are you doing?" she asked—a little unsettled by his intensity.

His gaze snapped up to her again—wide and startled, like a child with his hand caught in a cookie jar. "I was looking for Obi-Wan, trying to sense his presence, but I can't pick up anything. We must be too far from Coruscant."

She held her skeptical stare, willing him to elaborate, but he lapsed back into stony silence and she knew the battle was futile. Giving up for the moment, she took a large bite out of the rations bar, ignoring the less-than-stellar taste for the time being because it was something solid to settle her aching stomach.

"So, Master Jedi," she said after she had swallowed the bite, privately wondering why she bothered to continue their lackluster conversation, "if you insist on keeping me in the Outer Rim, I'm assuming you have a plan for once we land. Some way to keep me safe?"

His hesitant expression was not encouraging in the least. "Sort of."

The reluctant peace that had been building between them shattered loudly. "_What?" _Surely, he had to be joking. He couldn't have possibly been stupid enough to haul her off into the cesspools of the Galaxy without any kind of plan whatsoever.

"The plan is still in the, erm, _developing _stages, milady."

Padmé stared at him, stunned. Yes, apparently he _was_ capable of that level of stupidity. "So… you dragged me out here, on a _whim, _and now you have no idea what you're doing? You are _definitely _taking me back to Coruscant."

Skywalker's sheepish expression hardened into defensiveness. "Just because I don't have a fully-formed, step-by-step plan, _senator, _doesn't mean I don't know what I'm doing."

She took a moment to rage at his ability to turn the title she had worked so hard to earn into a form of mockery, before turning her attention back to the fact that he _didn't have a plan. _"So, what _are _you doing?"

He crossed his arms and looked down at her contemptuously. She inwardly cursed his height advantage. "Protecting you."

"So you claim." And they were back to square one again.

Time froze as the air around them stretched thin—locked between their defiant stares and stances, waiting for one of them to shatter and yield.

To Padmé's surprise, it was Skywalker. "This will get us nowhere," he muttered, glancing off to the side and surrendering the battle. "I just came to give you the food. I'll leave you alone now."

He turned away and sealed his surrender with a fast-paced retreat. She watched the darkness swallow him in baffled silence, disbelieving that he had handed her such an easy victory…

… and wondering at the lack of triumph she felt.

* * *

Something was humming and the ground beneath him seemed to be shaking.

But that couldn't possibly be right. He couldn't remember a single time in his life when his bed in the Temple had shaken, or hummed for that matter. Yet the vibrations pulsing through him felt strangely familiar. As awareness returned to him in faint trickles, he struggled to place the sensations his body was experiencing. Gradually, he became conscious of the aches and pains that sent tiny pricks along his nerves and the fact that his head felt as though someone had stuffed it full of cotton.

He carefully blinked open his eyes and instantly regretted it as a sharp spike of agony drove itself clear through his skull, turning his vision white before he slammed his eyes closed again and let a faint moan trickle through his parched lips.

In spite of the splitting headache and the flares of pain running through his body, a large part of him still felt numb and unfocused—like the world was fuzzy and far away, leaving him behind adrift in this strange sea. Determined to overcome, he forced his eyes open again, squinting against the harsh light pouring in. At first, nothing but blurry white greeted him, but after a few sluggish blinks things began to come into focus.

He was lying on his side on a cold metal floor. And there were bars all around him.

A holding cell? How in the blazes had he gotten here? The last he remembered he had been on his way back to his quarters from talking with Master Tiin in the detention wing. He had paused by the lifts when he sensed a disturbance, gone back and met with the two strange masters who'd insisted they were lost, sending alarms clanging through his skull…

Oh, right.

He'd been kidnapped … by the assassins who were after Senator Amidala.

He remembered the first blow, now, but there must have been a second and possibly some drugs. His system still felt slow and his mind fuzzy and a little disoriented, as well as his minimal connection to the Force that would reestablish itself once he regained a little awareness.

And got free of the thick cuffs clamped around his wrists.

Grimacing up at his hands chained to one of the bars above, Obi-Wan was forced to admit that he had gotten himself into quite a predicament. But, thanks to years of being Anakin's master, he had also learned to get himself out of such predicaments which had become decidedly commonplace after nine years looking after Anakin. He took a deep breath and carefully rolled over until he was on his stomach with his hands in front of him and slightly above his head. The position twisted his wrists and arms uncomfortably but he ignored the pain, focusing on levering himself carefully to his knees.

The world tilted at an odd angle and black spots danced in front of his eyes for a long moment. He pressed his forehead to the cool bars in front of him until everything resorted itself into proper order. Perhaps the drugs were still cycling in his system, and if that was the case he would be useless in a fight. However, he didn't particularly want to wait around for the bounty hunters to kill him and dump his body on some remote world, or demand ransom from the Jedi Council.

Besides, he hated cramped spaces, cages in particular.

From his position mashed up against the bars, Obi-Wan hesitantly reached out to the Force—relieved to feel it wash over him in a soothing wave. The connection was still a little dull—a river compared to the vast ocean he usually could immerse himself in—but there all the same. Apparently, these assassins had no Force-suppressing cuffs, and that was a small miracle in his favor.

Turning his attention to his bound wrists, the Jedi Master focused with every ounce of willpower his sluggish brain possessed, picturing the locks on the cuffs in his mind. He had never been as good at technological connections as his former apprentice, but it was enough to send the cuffs clattering to the floor. With a sigh of relief, he rubbed circulation back into his aching wrists and hoped fervently the bounty hunters hadn't heard the noise.

When the hold remained silent after a tense moment of waiting, Obi-Wan set his mind on the lock to his cage—determined to get free of the claustrophobic cage and learn more about where he was and where the bounty hunters, and subsequently he, might be heading. The lock on the holding cell gave way after only a few tries, leaving Obi-Wan blinking at it in puzzled surprise.

That had been … ridiculously easy. Perhaps the bounty hunters were not accustomed to holding Jedi?

With a mental shrug, he decided not to dwell on it and took two steps out of the cage into the cramped walkway. The world spun again and his knees almost gave out beneath him. Only a desperate grab at the cell bars kept him from faceplanting onto the deck. Clutching the bars tightly, the Jedi took several deep breaths, willing his vision to steady itself.

Yes, definitely still drugs circulating somewhere.

At last, everything was as close to normal as he felt he would get under the circumstances and he cautiously pushed away from the cell, beginning a rather haphazard trek down the walkway to the ladder on the far end. He paused at the bottom of the ladder and peered up at narrow shaft of light pouring in with a growing sense of dread.

He had a bad feeling about this. Maybe it would be safer to simply wait in the cell…

In the back of his mind, Anakin Skywalker laughed mockingly at him for his cowardice. With another steadying breath, Obi-Wan mentally told Anakin to shut up and decided to prove to his former Padawan that he was most decidedly _not _a coward. Gripping the first rung, he began to climb slowly but surely—one rung at a time with whispered prayers that his vision wouldn't decide to betray him when he was halfway up.

An eternity later he was clawing his way onto the upper deck. The black spots were back with a vengeance so he lay pathetically on the floor, struggling to catch his breath as he waited for them to go away and leave him alone.

Stupid drugs.

Hopefully, no one would decide to take a stroll through this area of the ship anytime soon.

No sounds reached his ears except the dull hum of the ship and his own harsh breathing. Finally—hours or minutes later, he couldn't be sure—the black spots receded and he was able to push himself up on trembling limbs. He swayed a little upon standing, but got his bearings quickly enough. To his left there seemed to be a sleeping area, with a narrow cot coming out of the wall, and to his right a small 'fresher.

Straight ahead was most likely the cockpit. And as tempting as the cot looked, he would find no answers there. However, limited mental facilities or not, he was still not idiotic enough to walk into the cockpit unarmed. Throwing himself back into the Force, the Jedi searched for his lightsaber, stretching his over every inch of the ship. Like everything except the ladder, finding the weapon was fairly easy. It was nestled securely on one of the assassins' belts.

Lovely.

After a few frustrating minutes of searching, he found what looked to be a weapons locker in a small storage closet. Wiping beading sweat from his brow, he crouched in front of the container, studying the lock. It appeared to be rigged—most likely to explode if he tampered too badly. In the Force he could feel the pulsing warning and frowned at the thought of the messy death that would come if he failed in his attempt to open the locker.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master—killed in an accidental explosion on board a ship while searching for a blaster.

No, he would not give Anakin something to laugh about for the rest of his life.

It was too risky, since he had never had an affinity for things such as locks and his Force connection kept flickering in and out like a bad holo transmission. Better to be sensible.

He stood shakily, leaning against the bulkhead for temporary support as he waited for his knees to stop wobbling. Once they seemed to remember they were solid and could hold his weight he pushed off into the main hallway again, pausing not far from the closed door to the cockpit. From beyond, he could barely hear whispered voices—the assassins conversing. Keeping himself as still as possible, he closed his eyes and quickly delved into his Force connection, coaxing it and steadying as best as he was able.

Then he did possibly the stupidest thing he'd ever done his life:

Storm a cockpit containing too heavily armed, trigger happy bounty hunters with nothing in his defense except a Force connection a Youngling could achieve.

Anakin would have been proud.

And the look on the female's face as he came flying towards her was rather hilarious.

* * *

"Alright, she's refueled and restocked. Chart a course for Kamino." Jango flipped switches and checked various readings along _Slave I's _console, preparing for a hyperspace jump that would take them away from the cesspit of a planet below them and on to Kamino, where they would finally be rid of the Jedi passed out in the cargo hold.

"Fine, fine," Zam grumbled—still stuck in the bad mood she'd developed after waking up this morning. "Don't need to snap."

Jango was about to retort that he was hardly _snapping, _when the hiss of the door opening echoed in his ears.

He jerked around when Zam shouted in alarm—one hand darting down toward his blaster pistol. Just as his fingers closed around the grip, something smashed into him hard enough to throw him from his seat and into the back bulkhead of the cramped cockpit. He gasped as the wind was briefly knocked out of him and the weight settled against his chest, constricting the return of air to his lungs.

It took him a moment to realize it was Zam, with her arm braced across his chest as she pushed herself upright, hurling toward a shadow in the far corner of the cockpit with a raised fist. The figure barely dodged the blow, stumbling against one of the seats. As the light of a distant star fell across the ship and the console surfaces reflected it throughout the cockpit, the shadows were pushed away, revealing tangled blond hair and familiar features.

The _Jedi? _But he'd been knocked out and full of enough drugs to take down a _Trandoshan. _How was he even _walking? _

Jango gaped unprofessionally, but fortunately the helmet helped preserve his dignity.

Zam whirled and managed to land a kick on the Jedi's thigh, but he retaliated with a blow that caught her side and sent her thudding into the door. Gathering his wits quickly, Jango pushed himself to his feet and rejoined the fight, aiming a punch at the Jedi's head. The Jedi ducked the swing and threw his weight forward, hitting Jango hard in the chest with his elbow. Jango grabbed the arm and pulled, yanking the Jedi off balance. A harsh kick swept one of his legs out from under him, but as he grabbed one of the chairs to keep himself upright Zam leapt back into the fray with a hit to the Jedi's back.

The man tripped forward and tumbled into Jango again, propelling them back against a bulkhead. Jango's helmet cracked audibly at the collision, but saved him from most of the pain. The Jedi shoved away from him and swayed, looking suddenly very unsteady on his feet. The drugs apparently hadn't worn off completely. When the Jedi raised a hand, a focused expression stealing across his sweat-stained features, a jolt of realization hit Jango and he drove himself forward—body-slamming the Jedi with all his might before the man could pull his lightsaber from Jango's belt.

His momentum carried both of them up onto _Slave I'_s console and the Jedi cried out as his back connected hard with the controls. Jango struggled to put his hands around the man's neck, hoping to choke him into unconsciousness. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Zam aiming a blaster at the man beneath him but before he could warn her not to shoot, something else caught his attention: a blinking indicator light on the console politely informing him that the hyperdrive had been engaged.

The hyperdrive had just engaged. And they hadn't finished plotting a course.

He had enough time for a horrified gasp of alarm before the stars around them blurred and stretched and the ship rocketed forward faster than the speed of light. The jolt lifted them up and hurled them like discarded toys against the back bulkhead—hard enough to pull a startled yell from Jango's mouth, but he managed to remain conscious. The Jedi was not as lucky. His head slapped roughly against the bulkhead and he immediately slumped into unconsciousness on the floor of the cockpit with blood trickling down his forehead.

The cabin fell eerily silent.

"Jango…" Zam whispered, a disbelieving note to her voice.

Jango lifted his gaze from the Jedi's still form to the swirling blue of hyperspace beyond the viewport and felt dread knot itself in his stomach. An uncharted hyperspace jump was dangerous beyond imagination. It was painfully easy for a ship to collide with a star or be wrenched from hyperspace by an unforeseen gravity well or even be caught in the swirling blue vortex forever—the possibilities were endless, none of them good.

There was little to do now but wait.

With a grunt, he hauled himself to his feet and sank back down into the pilot's chair. "There's nothing we can do, Zam," he murmured when he felt her questioning stare. "We just have to wait for the jump to end."

_If_ it ended. But he didn't really want to think about that.

* * *

"_What?" _

Mace Windu blinked in disbelief at the solemn man in front of him, the flickering holo-blue distorting his features somewhat, but even with the bad quality he didn't look like he was joking.

"Senator Amidala has been missing since last night, Master Jedi," the man who had introduced himself as Captain Typho repeated grimly. "As has Knight Skywalker. Though the senator's closest was in a bit of a disarray there were no obvious signs of a struggle."

Mace wiped a weary hand across his face, stamping down on the un-Jedi like irritation that was rising up rapidly within him. It should have been fairly simple for Skywalker to guard the senator for a few weeks. The boy was many things, but an incompetent duelist was unfortunately not one of them. Yet, the Council had mistakenly overlooked Skywalker's penchant for screwing up even the easiest missions.

He had _known _it was too soon to send the boy on a mission, even though Kenobi was supposed to have watched over him. The impetuous Knight had apparently learned nothing. The Council turned its back for an instant and he went and did something like _this. _

"I see," Mace said at last, remembering that Typho was waiting for an answer—some sense of direction or reassurance that his honored senator was safe. "And you believe Knight Skywalker to be responsible?" It wasn't really a question, though he purposefully phrased it as one.

Typho's nod was hesitant but firm when it came. "Yes, Master Jedi. There is security footage of Knight Skywalker carrying Senator Amidala from her suite. She appeared to be unconscious."

The irritation welled up again, stronger. As soon as they located Knight Skywalker, Mace would see to it that he was deposited on a remote Outer Rim world as he should have been from the very beginning. There was no turning back from the Dark Side—not completely, even for the Chosen One. The Council had been foolish to trust the boy again—in spite of Kenobi's faith. That faith had proven to be blind and unfitting of a Jedi numerous times in the past, and the Council should not have been so quick to forget.

After all, Skywalker was Kenobi's shatterpoint and always had been.

"Thank you, Captain," Mace said, leaning back in his seat. "I assure that the Jedi will personally see to it that the Senator is returned to Coruscant safe and unharmed."

Typho nodded curtly—anger lurking beneath his professional mask of calm. "We would greatly appreciate that, Master Jedi." The _"since you put her in this position in the first place" _went unspoken, but not unheard.

The transmission winked out in a flicker of blue light, leaving Mace alone in his darkened quarters. With a long-suffering sigh, the Korun master reached for the communication console again, contacting Kenobi's quarters. The younger Knight had always known how to control Skywalker.

No answer.

Mace frowned. It was early still. Kenobi should not have left the Temple yet. With a growing sense of unease, Mace tried again. Nothing.

Then his console beeped, indicating an incoming transmission. Hoping it would be Kenobi, Mace accepted the call and was a little surprised to see a nervous-looking Master Tiin shimmer into existence.

"Saesee?" He asked, sensing the strong emotions coiling around the usually unflappable Iktotchi.

Tiin sighed and shook his head. "I'm afraid we have a problem, Master Windu. The assassin escaped."

Mace fought the urge to find a hard surface to bang his head against repeatedly. First senator Amidala and now the assassin? Could Skywalker possibly be blamed for both? "I see." It was all he could manage without letting too many emotions leak into his words.

"There were no signs of forced entry or exit. She most likely had help. One of the ray shields blocking the rooftop vents was disturbed, but we were unable to track the intruder fast enough, and they were also able to override the locking code on the cell." Saesee paused, his leathery brow knitting in contemplation. "Have you seen Master Kenobi recently? He was the last person to leave the detention level and then I heard from a Padawan that he left sometime late last night with two others to check on Senator Amidala. I was hoping he could shed some light on all this."

Mace took a steadying breath as his vision momentarily swam red. "No," he ground out. "I was just looking for him. Senator Amidala also went missing last night."

His fellow Jedi's eyes widened in stunned alarm. "What?"

"There were no signs of a struggle at Amidala's apartment either." Mace massaged his temple, feeling the beginnings of a migraine forming beneath his skin. "While I wouldn't put it past Skywalker to pull a stunt like kidnapping, Kenobi is a different story. The assassins probably used him to get out of here."

Tiin looked dubious. "And he just went with them?"

"I don't know!" Mace snapped, control slipping for a precious instant. He recoiled immediately, inhaling softly to calm himself. "I'm sorry, Saesee. I didn't mean to shout."

The Iktotchi gave him a wry smile. "Your frustration is understandable, Mace. I suggest we call an emergency Council session."

Mace nodded solemnly. "I agree. Start contacting the other Masters. I'll get in touch with Master Yoda."

With a slight bow, Tiin cut the communication, leaving Mace in the dark once again. The Councilmember took a moment of silence to compose himself, siphoning off his frustration and shock into the Force. It wouldn't do for him to approach the Council in such a volatile state. When he felt balanced and in control once more, he reached yet again for the communication console, sending a transmission to Yoda's quarters.

As the diminutive Grand Master appeared, Mace didn't bother with pleasantries.

"We need to call an emergency Council session. Skywalker, the senator, the assassin, and Kenobi have all been missing since last night."

Like always, none of Yoda's potential surprise showed on his face. "Hmm," he murmured, leaning heavily on his gimer stick. "Disturbing this news is. Meet you in the Council Chambers, I will. Much to discuss, I sense we have."

Mace cut the communication without a good-bye and rose to his feet, shrugging his cloak over his shoulders. He stalked from the apartment quickly, tamping down on his irritation at Skywalker and his recklessness. Somehow, he was almost certain the younger Jedi was responsible for at least a part of this mess.

Yes, the Council would have much to discuss. Much to discuss, indeed.

* * *

The navi computer beeped a warning, pulling Jango away from all the mental scenarios of what their fate might be and ways to prevent each one. When he glanced down at the console, his stomach made a swan dive for his boots.

The ship was heading in _way _too close to a star for comfort.

"Zam!" He snapped, throwing himself over the controls as the ship prepared to come out of hyperspace—alarms flashing across the console.

The Clawdite tumbled into the co-pilot's seat, securing herself in the crash webbing, and began flipping switches, diverting power to the shields and flicking on stabilizers—her face ashen but determined. "I see it."

The almost tranquil swirl of hyperspace vanished with an abrupt jolt, and reality hurled at them with deadly speed, filled with a roaring star spewing flares and debris across space all around them. Jango yanked hard left on the controls, trying to veer the ship away the star's merciless pull. The bulkheads creaked in protest and the ship hummed loudly, throwing every drop of her power into the struggle.

"Jango!" Zam yelled next to him, gripping her seat with white knuckles—wide eyes on the star filling their viewport.

Jango gritted his teeth, ignoring her and the strain in his arms. He _refused _to die like this, not after everything he'd worked so hard to survive.

"C'mon, c'mon," he muttered, and slowly, ever slowly, the star began to grow smaller as the _Slave I _fought her way free meter by painful meter.

At last, just when Jango felt his arms were about to give out and the ship about to disintegrate, the star surrendered the battle and let them go with a faint lurch. Zam gasped in relief, but alarm claxons pealed across the controls as the star decided to leave them with a parting gift: a flare that slammed into the right side of the ship, hurling them off course and cutting cleanly through the wing.

Jango cursed loud and long in Mando'a, swearing he would _murder _the Jedi for causing this mess if they survived—credits be damned—as the ship went into a spin, careening toward a planet looming in the distance. With a few jerks on the yoke and some more power to the stabilizers, Jango managed to even the ship out, setting her on a straight course for the planet.

"Brace yourself," he warned Zam as the ship began to rattle ominously and the planet obscured their vision. "This is going to be quite the landing."

"No kidding," Zam griped, tightening her death grip on the seat.

Jango spared a quick glance over his shoulder at the cursed Jedi and was glad to see Zam had possessed the foresight to strap him in. At least this way, there might be a small chance of him getting paid, even if Dooku would be upset about the Senator's continued existence.

He would need the credits to buy a new ship.

They entered the planet's atmosphere faster than he would have liked. With an irritated grunt, he silenced the alarms trilling through the ship before struggling to turn the ship into a position more suited to landing, but with one wing shot leveling out was impossible even for someone of his piloting skills and _Slave I _continued on her lopsided collision course with the planet.

His bones felt ready to rattle out of his skin and his teeth clacked together painfully as the ground rushed up to greet them, and it was too fast, too fast, too—

The impact threw him forward over the console and pain wracked his body as it collided with the unforgiving metal. The ship continued to tumble and slide at a rough angle—half of the cockpit scraping harshly against the ground—plowing through small trees and other shrubbery easily. Jango managed to raise his head just as the jumble of earth and sky ended and a cliff came into view.

Zam screamed. His heart stopped for a split second as for the first time in a decade fear sent his blood running cold.

It was too fast, too _fast_, too fas_—_

The ship went over. Jango felt _this_ impact like a thousand vibroblades running through his body, strong enough to rip apart his crash webbing and send him on a brutal collision course with the slanted viewport. Unable to hold the combined force of his body and the vicious crash, the viewport shattered and glass dug into his skin where the armor didn't cover as he toppled forward out of the sparking cockpit. Zam screamed again, sounding pained and terrified, but he could do nothing for her.

His vision went blinding white and then there was nothing at all.

* * *

**Don't you just love cliffhangers? ;) **

Notes: 

Hyperspace jump: So I did read up a lot on hyperspace travel before writing this. There were not many stories about what an uncharted hyperspace jump could do to you, but all of them explicity suggested it was _bad. _One crew even got lost in hyperspace for a hundred years, apparently. Sucks to be them. Anyway, hopefully that, the fight scene, and everything else was believable.

**Thanks for sticking with this story and another updated should come soon-ish. **


	8. Steps Forward and Back

**So, it's been ages, I know. I apologize. Real life has been unbeliavbly crazy this past semester. I barely had enough time to sleep, let alone write. But, I'm back. Heading into summer updates should come marginally faster. Thanks to everyone for sticking with this story so far!**

**Reviews are better than chocolate. So leave some, please?  
**

* * *

_The grass is soft beneath his feet, brushing lightly against the loose legs of his pants. _

_ Loose. They shouldn't be loose, and he shouldn't be able to _feel _the grass—not through his boots, not through the metal of his left leg. _

_ Surprised, he glances down and is shocked to see two bare feet, made of flesh and bone—toes curled in the grass. He lifts his hands up to his face and sees the same. With wide eyes, he curls the fingers of right hand into his palm, marveling at the now-foreign feeling. _

_ Stars, what—? _

_ In the distance, someone laughs. _

_ His head jerks up sharply, hands falling to his sides, and he scans the rippling field in search of the source. He _knows _that laugh. It is scorched across his memories, locked up tight in the tatters of his soul, but he shouldn't be hearing it now. _

_ She is _gone.

_ Something moves across his peripheral vision and when he whirls he catches a glimpse of yellow and dark, flyaway hair disappearing over a hilltop. Without thinking he scrambles to follow, racing through the grassy ocean as the familiar laughter rings out again and something in his heart that should have been dead and gone aches in response. _

_ He stumbles over the top of the hill and freezes, gaping at the magnificent waterfall that fills the horizon, roaring down into a vast pool. In spite of its majesty and grandeur, he can still hear the wind whispering through the field and the laughter that continues to echo. _

_ Spinning in a quick circle, he searches again. _

_ There. Running along the edge of the pool with her black hair billowing out behind her and her yellow dress swirling around her calves. _

_ She has flowers in her hair. _

_ He shouts and sprints after her, stretching out a hand to grab her. When at last his fingers brush her back, they go right through. _

_ He cries out in alarm as she vanishes, leaving him feeling empty. He stands in stunned silence for an indefinite amount of time, fighting back old tears and agony. _

_ "Anakin." _

_ He spins and there she is—atop the hill once again. With a steadying breath and a fleeting thought that he might just have finally lost what is left of his sanity, he moves toward her at a more subdued walk. She is still whole and solid when he reaches her—flower-laden hair tumbling down her back. It is slightly curlier than he remembers, but no less beautiful. _

_ She looks good in yellow. _

_ He looks past her finally and freezes when he realizes that the rest of the field is gone and they are standing precariously on the edge of a cliff. With a gasp, he backs up a step, watching rocks break free and tumble into the misty abyss. He glances at her quickly, meaning to pull her away from the danger, but is surprised to see her eyes are closed and her face serene. _

_ She looks … peaceful. _

_ Not at all the way she looked when—_

_ Her midnight blue eyes open suddenly and she turns to look at him. His breath hitches when he finds himself face to face with her for the first time in years. Her name gets tangled up in his throat with all the thousands of other things he needs to say and all he can do is stare in helpless, broken-hearted wonder. _

_ She smiles. _

_ A sharp crack rents the air and unexpectedly the rocks beneath his feet give way. With a startled cry, he reaches for her desperately as he pitches backwards. His grasping fingers meet with nothing but empty air. _

_ He falls. Down, down, down. _

_ His last sight is her silhouette on the cliff, the wind tugging wildly at her hair. _

* * *

Anakin sat up with a hitching gasp, hand outstretched into the darkness.

Blinking in surprise and puzzlement, he slowly pulled his hand back and examined it, feeling bitter pain spike in his chest at the sight of the familiar glove that carefully concealed and protected the mechanics underneath. Around him the out-dated glowlamps of the cargo hold flickered sporadically, creating strange dances of shadow and light across the shelves and bulkheads, and a few feet away Senator Amidala slept soundly.

He buried his face in his mismatched hands and fought to regain his equilibrium. In spite of his efforts, his next breath rattled and shuddered as it left him and his shoulders shook subtly.

Why? Why was this happening _now? _He hadn't dreamed of her in years—too consumed with more terrifying nightmares of lava and death and abandonment—there was no reason to start again.

And yet, apparently there _was. _

With a sharp sigh of frustration, Anakin climbed to his feet—still trying to stop the tremors running through his limbs—and spared another glance at the sleeping form of the senator. The noise he'd been making hadn't woken her in the slightest and for once he was thankful she was a relatively heavy sleeper. It could get her killed in the long run, but right now it was a small blessing.

He was about to go exploring in the cargo hold when a sudden lurch threatened to upset his balance and jolted Amidala from her peaceful slumber. She bolted upright and scanned the cargo hold with wide eyes as another shudder ran through the ship—more familiar in nature.

"We're landing," Anakin supplied in response to her questioning gaze, bending to gather up a few stray things and throwing them haphazardly back into the bag, ignoring the death glare the senator sent his way.

She scrambled to her feet, raking her fingers through her tangled hair in a futile attempt to tame it. Anakin briefly regretted not taking the time to find a hairbrush for her, but he had felt awkward at the idea of going through the drawers in her 'fresher.

"Fine," she said tersely. "The sooner we get off this rust bucket the sooner you can take me back to Coruscant."

He ignored the second glare with just as much calm as the first, though beneath the Jedi mask he could feel irritation beginning to spike again. Couldn't she take a hint? "I told you, Senator, we're _not _going back. It's too dangerous."

"And the Outer Rim isn't?" was the scathing reply, pulling what felt like the thousandth sigh from Anakin. With a great deal of effort, he stamped out his temper and the voice of the dragon whispering at him to just put a lightsaber in her and end it, if only for some peace and quiet.

"Let's just see what planet we ended up on, okay?" He barely kept his tone neutral and respectful, but to his surprise she reluctantly nodded in assent.

"Fine."

Another lurch shook the ship and the distance a wide shaft of light poured into the cargo hold. "They're opening the side hatches." Anakin glanced at Amidala as he slung the bag over his shoulder. "We should get out of here before they see us."

Before Amidala could offer another comment about the legalities (or lack thereof) of what they were doing, he grabbed her wrist and dragged her behind some towering shelves, shushing her when she let loose a stream of indignant spluttering, just as another side hatch opened, flooding the darkened cargo hold with brilliant light. Anakin squinted against the harsh glare—retinas struggling to adjust after so long in the dark. Beside him, Amidala raised a hand to cover her face, hissing as the light seared her eyes.

Once he could see properly, Anakin pulled her along again, weaving through the shelves to avoid the workers that were streaming onto the ship, chattering amongst each other in a language he didn't recognize. He was hoping for a planet name, but nothing telling was offered in their garbled conversation. Giving up quickly, he tuned it out and focused on avoiding them, using shelving and huge crates as shields until they were less than a meter away from the side hatch.

Amidala was tense and silent, and Anakin was momentarily glad for her ability to keep her head during danger. Most politicians would have been reduced to a blubbering mess after the past twenty-four hours, but Amidala looked like a warrior ready to go into battle. It was a little impressive.

Tapping her on the shoulder, Anakin held up three fingers, then pointed to the opening, indicating she should run on three. She nodded and coiled her muscles, ready for the sprint to freedom. Anakin waited with baited breath, watching the workers exit lugging crates and other boxes of cargo.

Any second now…

The last man left and for a critical instant, the entire group's back was turned as they stacked the cargo. Anakin waved at Amidala and she exploded into motion, darting with surprising speed down the ramp and into the relatively safety of the shadows cast by the ship. Anakin followed close behind, reaching her just as the first of the workers began to turn back to the craft. He paused for a moment to catch his breath, hating the effects Force-induced speed tended to have on the lungs. Amidala arched an eyebrow at him, looking slightly impressed at his speed, but refrained from commenting.

"Let's go," Anakin whispered, pointing to the exit that lead into the city.

For they were indeed in a city. He could see speeders congesting traffic lanes overhead and the smell of industry and pollution was already tainting his nostrils and coating the inside of his mouth with every breath. In the distance, several buildings loomed above the spaceport and Anakin peered intently at them as he and the senator picked their way toward the exit, trying to remember if he had seen them before.

They seemed familiar….

Anakin jerked himself out of his thoughts and they stepped out into the crowded city street and he was nearly plowed over by a Human in a hurry to be somewhere. Scowling after the man, he rubbed his shoulder and scanned the street, noting the cloud of pollution that hung in the air.

Amidala coughed and rubbed at her nose in a humorously undignified manner. "What is this planet?" she muttered, coughing again. "I feel like I'm going to choke to death."

Anakin frowned, contemplating the cityscape around him and searching for any indicators of where they had landed themselves. Vague familiarity was nagging at him, insisting that he had been here before. As he spun in a slow circle, not caring how ridiculous he looked, he caught sight of a sign not far from the entrance to the spaceport.

_Phelar Spaceport. _

His chest clenched. Eriadu. This was Eriadu. Of course he should remember it. He had come here during those years lost in darkness, aiming to kill…

"Master Jedi?" A hand landed on his arm, pulling his attention away from the shadows of the past. He blinked down at the senator, surprised to see a small hint of genuine worry in her brown eyes. "Are you alright?"

"We're on Eriadu." Her arched eyebrow clearly said she saw through his pathetic attempts to dodge the question, but she let the issue slide.

"Eriadu? Isn't that the home of the Tarkin family?" Amidala glanced around sharply while Anakin shrugged. He didn't know the Tarkin family was and could really care less.

At the moment the priority was finding food and a place to stay until he could figure out what the next step in his grand plan should be. If they were on Eriadu the ship had come along the Rimma Trade Route, most likely. Sighing, Anakin ran a hand through his hair and tried to pull his scattered thoughts together. As far as he knew, this was one of the few Outer Rim worlds to accept Republic Credits, but that was only a guess based on a foggy memory, hardly reliable.

"I suggest we return to the spaceport," Amidala spoke up, gesturing at the chaotic port behind them. "We need to find a ship that will take us back to Coruscant."

"No," Anakin grated out, taking a step further into the street.

Amidala's fingers curled around his arm, furiously jerking him to a halt. When he twisted to look at her, sparking brown orbs glared back. "For the last time, _Master Jedi, _you are taking be back to Coruscant. It is my duty to my people to be there for the vote on the Military Creation Act. The outcome of the vote could determine if go to _war—"_

"You've said that," Anakin cut in impatiently, yanking his arm free from her grip. "I don't care."

"You don't care about the future of this Republic? About the prospect of _war? _I thought Jedi were supposed to be peacekeepers!" Amidala cried incredulously.

"What good will you be to them if you're dead?" He shouted—Jedi reserve finally cracking and crumbling under the strain of his raging emotions. He took a step forward, leaning down close to her face so he could lock eyes. "If you go back there and end up getting yourself killed, where will they be? This vote will happen with or without you. You're one person representing _one _system and you may be the head of the opposition but you won't have much sway over the outcome, right?"

Amidala raised her chin defiantly, refusing to break the stare. "You don't know that. My presence would bolster my allies to vote against the Act. And _every _vote counts. That is why we are a democracy!"

Anakin snorted derisively, jerking back so he could cross his arms, and it wasn't because he felt like her eyes were piercing straight into his tainted, cynical soul. It _wasn't_. "So you say. But I'm more concerned with your safety the outcome of a Senate vote."

"You should be concerned," Amidala countered darkly. "This vote could change the future of our Galaxy, including the future of the Jedi."

"_Could, _milady." Anakin spared a moment to wish desperately for Obi-Wan and his rationality and smooth words. "I don't deal with possible futures, only the present. And _right now _I can't protect you in a city as massive and as full of escape routes, vantage points, and hiding places as Coruscant on my own. That's why I brought you out here and didn't tell anyone."

"You seemed to be doing fine." Anakin shook his head in response to Amidala's observation and she frowned. "Well, I have a security staff completely at my disposal. I will not let your paranoia keep me from my duties as a senator. If _you _will not find a ride off-planet I _will." _She turned on her and took two deliberate steps toward the gates of the spaceport before Anakin lunged forward and grabbed her arm, yanking her to a rough halt.

"Where do you think you're going?" He demanded as she scowled fiercely at him.

"Where do you think? To find a ship, _Master Jedi." _She tried to wrench herself free—intent on continuing into the spaceport.

"You can't go back." It came out far more desperate-sounding than he would have liked, but every time he thought of Coruscant a sense of danger and foreboding trilled down his spine.

_She'll die, _it whispered venomously every time he felt it—like ice across his skin. _She'll die and you'll __**fail. **_

Amidala had apparently caught on to the near-pleading edge to his voice for she ceased her struggling and peered up at him curiously. He sucked in a shuddering breath, wondering how to proceed—because even though she was insufferable and stubborn and arrogant to the point of being downright _spoiled, _he didn't want to watch her die. For the last four years he had done nothing but watch people die, and he was sick of it.

If keeping her alive required a little more honesty on his part than he would normally be comfortable with so be it, as long as he didn't have to wash her blood from his hands someday.

"I can't watch you die," he whispered fervently and plowed on through Amidala's wide eyes. "If you go back there, you'll die. I _know _it, and I'm never wrong about things like this." His fingers unconsciously curled tighter around her arm as he remember another time, another planet, _her, _and the feeling he should have listened to. "As annoying as you are, I don't want to see that be your fate. In spite of the fact that you're a politician, you seem like a fairly decent person and you don't deserve a death like that." He looked away as soon as he was finished, letting the heavy words hang awkwardly between them. Like always, he'd said more than he'd meant to, but it was irreparable now.

The silence was becoming suffocating when Amidala finally spoke—her voice careful and measured, but not ice and steel and fire like it had been before. "I suppose this planet isn't so bad. I can remain with you, for the moment. But as soon as possible you _are _taking me back to Coruscant." He ignored her emphasis on the qualifier and her condescending glare in favor of keeping himself upright against the wave of unexpected relief that flooded through him.

"It's nice to know you can be sensible sometimes, Senator," he quipped, rushing them back onto more familiar ground.

She scoffed at him, crossing her arms. "You are _hardly _one to talk about sensibility, Master Jedi."

He smirked at her before turning back toward the city. "I suggest we go find a place to stay."

She trailed after him as they traipsed toward the bustling city spread out before them. "And what of the grand plan you insisted you had?"

"I said I knew what I was doing. I never said anything about a plan," he leveled her with slightly sardonic smile. "I make things up as I go along, milady."

Her expression of outraged disbelief was almost priceless.

* * *

The pain, lancing through his body with all the force of a lightsaber, was the only indicator he was still alive. He groaned softly as his body screamed at him and managed to pry his gritty his eyes open—a little shocked at the sight of a pale blue sky streaking overhead. Last time he had woken up, he had found himself in the cargo hold of a bounty hunting ship, and everything was considerably blurry after that.

Coughing and a little nervous at the bitter taste of blood that coated the inside of his mouth, he managed to plant his elbows in the soft dirt beneath him and lever himself into an almost-sitting position. His body instantly shrieked in protest, but he fought back its cries with gritted teeth and got himself fully upright.

As he blinked against the faint glare of a distant sun, he saw towering grass surrounding him on all sides, easily brushing against his cheeks from his sitting position and a few strands stretching on far past his head. Above the gently waving grass, smoke coated the air—billowing in a tall plume from somewhere to his left—and embedded next to him in the dirt was a large piece of durasteel.

What in the Force?

Blurry images and sensations trailed through his mind—faint and impossible to gain any viable information from.

Confused, he tried to lift a hand to run it through the matted tangles of his beard, but abandoned the attempt when his arm refused to budge. Possibly a broken bone or a badly pulled muscle. Hissing in uncharacteristic frustration, he decided to attempt standing, stubbornly ignoring the wiser part of his brain that helpfully pointed out how unbelievably _idiotic _that idea was in his current condition.

Throwing his body weight forward succeeded in getting him on his hands and knees with a painful jolt. From there, he carefully pulled one leg under him, planting a dirty boot on the ground and noting the dark smoke stains and burn holes littering his pants, then another, pushing himself from the ground with his hands. After several starts and stops, he was swaying unsteadily but somewhat triumphantly on his feet and able to see above most of the grass to the smoldering wreckage of a ship only a few meters away.

He blinked at in shock, wondering how Anakin _always _managed to crash nearly every _single _ship he piloted.

Then he remembered a brief but violent struggle, screams and yells, the stars stretching and pulling in on themselves—warped by the beginnings of a hyperspace jump—then nothing but cool and comforting darkness.

Well.

He sighed wearily and wiped something sticky from where it was dripping into his eyes. When he glanced down at his hand, he was a little surprised to find the sheen of red coating it. Blood—he'd most likely gashed his forehead or some other part of his face open in the crash. How _wonderful—_and the thought dripped with so much sarcasm even Anakin would have cringed had he been around to hear it.

Trying to clear some of the lingering mental cobwebs, he shook his head and took a wobbling step forward, ignoring the way his wounds ached and the world tilted and blurred in front of him.

If his spotty memory wasn't completely failing him, there were two assassins around here somewhere … and one of them had his lightsaber.

It was high time he got it back.

The first half dozen steps were pure agony, but after that his body seemed to take the hint that he wasn't going to give up and quieted down to only the occasional stab of fire through his injuries. He had to stop twice and catch his breath, bracing his hands on his dirty knees to keep himself from collapsing back to the ground he'd worked so painstakingly hard to escape.

He paused at the very Anakin-esque thought and sighed mentally. It appeared his brain wasn't up to full levels of functionality just yet, but was hardly surprising given the circumstances.

When the world had stopped going haywire and his lungs were once again breathing evenly, he continued his slow journey forward—finally reaching the wreckage after another handful of painful steps. The ship was in a sorry state, to say the least—viewport shattered, one wing ripped clean off and lying a few dozen meters away at the base of a small hill, the body itself nearly sheared in half, and fire roaring everywhere. Pieces of metal and debris scattered the scorched earth around the crash site and in the midst of it all lay a familiar figure in Mandalorian armor, looking like he had been hurled through the viewport upon impact—mostly like a fate Obi-Wan had shared, considering his distance from the wreckage.

Staggering toward him, Obi-Wan dropped to his knees just in time to hear a quiet moan trickle out from beneath the helmet—distorted by a damaged helmet mic. Shards of transpirsteel jutted out from unprotected areas and scorch marks scoured the metal, but the man seemed to be in relatively good condition—fast regaining consciousness.

As the bounty hunter groaned again and shifted, struggling to regain his movement, Obi-Wan saw a familiar object nestled in one of the pouches on his belt. A feeling of almost giddy delight briefly overcame the normally composed Jedi as he reached out in the Force and pulled the weapon to him, relishing in the secure weight it against his palm. For the first time in hours, maybe even days, he felt his normal confidence and strength returning, piecing him back into the poised Jedi Master he usually was.

"_You." _The rasping hiss swiftly brought his attention back to the man in front of him, who was furiously trying to sit up.

The killing intent radiating off the bounty hunter was so strong, Obi-Wan's first instinct was to bury his reacquired lightsaber in the man's chest, but he decided that would be far too un-Jedi like: killing a helpless, unarmed man in cold blood. But even so, with that much killing intent smothering the air around him, it would be unwise for him to leave the man in the conscious realm.

"I'm sorry about your ship," he offered—still unsure if he had been the one to cause the crash and figuring he would do the polite thing and apologize anyway—and pulled a piece of wreckage to him through the Force, bringing it down with every ounce of his strength on the man's head just as his hand moved for one of the weapons on his belt.

The T-shaped visor cracked loudly and a new dent appeared on the blackened surface of the helmet as the man let out a startled gasp and collapsed in a boneless heap back into the dirt.

Obi-Wan sighed and wobbled to his feet again, hooking his lightsaber back on his dilapidated belt and doing his best to straighten his singed and torn robes. With one last glance at the still form at his feet, he turned and began his slow trek away from the crash site in search of civilization and a means of getting off whatever Force-forsaken planet this was.

Oh, Anakin would have a field day once he heard about this.

* * *

"You mean to tell me that Skywalker, Kenobi, Senator Amidala, _and _the assassin all went missing within the same night?"

It took every ounce of Mace's Jedi patience built up over the course of his lifetime not to lash out at Adi Gallia. "Yes," he said through gritted teeth, struggling to keep his hands from curling into fists against the armrests of his council chair. "That appears to be the case."

And every second they wasted with flabbergasted incredulity, Skywalker grew further and further out of their reach, taking the captured senator and who knew else with him.

"Are you suggesting that Skywalker is somehow behind the disappearance of the other three?" Ki-Adi Mundi looked troubled by the idea, but not exactly surprised.

Before Mace could reassert that _yes, _that was most definitely his opinion given Skywalker's history of … _unsavory _activity, Plo Koon jumped into the conversation. "It seems like a reckless move for Skywalker, and out of character. When he returned to us a few months ago, I sensed no deception from him."

"And we sensed no deception from him when he left the Order for the Sith," Eeth Koth pointed out with sardonic disdain.

"I agree the boy is not to be taken lightly. Perhaps we were too quick to offer redemption. Just because he is the supposed Chosen One does not mean he is infallible." Depa Billiba, his old Padawan, leaned forward in her seat with an expression of worried determination.

"He has changed." Shaak Ti, ever Skywalker's defender, though _why _after the boy had killed several close Knights and her Padawan right before eyes, Mace couldn't fathom. Perhaps she had seen something in him they had failed to. "He has shown vast improvement in these past few months. He is more a Jedi now than he has ever been."

"Can we be sure of that?" Coleman Trebor murmured softly, eyes focused inward—on the past. A dear friend of his had also been a casualty of Vader's blade. "We all know the difficulties of returning from the Dark Side. In the history of our Order the last to do it successfully was Revan."

Mace rubbed his temple as the argument continued down a frustratingly familiar path traveled by them countless times in the past few years. Circular arguments would only fritter away more time that they did not have.

"Masters," his voice echoed through the small chamber, halting the murmuring arguments, "dwelling on the past won't get us anywhere, nor will discussing Skywalker's motives. We must focus on the present situation."

"Agree with Master Windu, I do," Yoda finally spoke, leveling each of the gathered Council Members with a look that reduced even the most experienced of them to feeling like errant Padawans. "Let him present the facts to us, we should."

Silence quickly descended on the chamber as the Masters exchanged chagrined glances and turned their attention to Mace. Feeling the weight of eleven pairs of eyes, he unconsciously straightened in his seat and worked to keep his current ire at the Galaxy in general out of his voice as he began his presentation.

"We only have hard evidence that Skywalker was involved with the abduction of Senator Amidala. According to the security footage presented by Naboo Security Chief, Captain Typho, Skywalker forcibly removed the senator from her quarters not long after four o'clock standard time and stole a speeder from one of the landing pads on 500 Republica." Murmurs of alarm and suspicion rippled briefly through the chamber. "His final destination is not known, but I think it's safe to assume that he has taken the senator offworld."

"What of Master Kenobi?" Plo Koon asked, obviously deciding to leave the pile of Bantha fodder that was always the topic Anakin Skywalker alone for the time being. Mace almost sent a wave of gratitude to him through the Force.

Skywalker and his idiotic ways was not something Mace could calmly and rationally discuss at the moment.

Saesee Tiin entered the discussion for the first time. "Master Kenobi was last spotted by Padawan Malreaux leaving the Temple with two other Knights around one o'clock standard time."

"Have we identified the other Knights?" Shaak Ti inquired.

Tiin shook his head. "Padawan Malreaux did not get a good look at them, but when I questioned him, he mentioned that they all had seemed 'tense.'"

"Tense?" Mace echoed with an arched eyebrow.

"Yes," the Iktotchi folded his massive hands in his lap and nodded solemnly. "That was how Padawan Malreaux described it."

"Could Kenobi have been consorting with the assassin?" Even Piell questioned darkly.

Shaak Ti stiffened in her chair, outrage condensing the air around her. "Master Kenobi is one of the most loyal and dedicated Masters I have ever met. He would _not_ betray the Jedi."

Piell turned to regard her with an arch expression and a fierce scowl. "Kenobi proved his so-called loyalty to this Order when he failed to kill Darth Vader, then hid the fact from us for several months. Past events easily show us that Kenobi is far more loyal to Anakin Skywalker than he is to us. He is too attached to that boy."

The migraine that had building behind Mace's right eye all morning was now throbbing with all the spirit and intensity of a rampaging reek. Massaging his forehead, the Master of the Order decided it was time to intervene before they descended into another argument. Fortunately, Yoda beat him to the punch.

"Make wild accusations, we should not," the diminutive Grand Master said icily, cutting through the two bickering Masters.

Once again, silence instantly flooded the room, and Mace allowed himself an inward smirk. Like usual, the Council bowed to the wisdom of Master Yoda. Sometimes, Mace wondered if they really needed a Council at all. Yoda was more than capable of handling things, as he proved time and again. To him, most of them were likely little more than glorified Padawans.

"Forgive me, Master," Even Piell replied stiffly.

Mace sighed softly and glanced around at his fellow Masters, seeing cracks appearing in their masks of calm. How was it that Skywalker, even without being present, always managed to reduce them to squabbling Younglings with no sense of dignity or lifetimes of Jedi training?

"It is possible," he continued, brushing aside all thoughts on the infuriating "Chosen One," "that the two Knights Master Kenobi was with were the assassins. After all, we did assume that the prisoner was not working alone. There were signs of an intruder last night, it's likely the prisoner's partner came to break her out and Master Kenobi just got tangled up in the mess."

"No one would be so audacious to _break into_ the _Jedi Temple," _Adi Gallia countered in a voice colored by misguided certainty.

"We should not assume anything," Plo Koon argued. "We have made a grave mistake by underestimating these bounty hunters."

"But to kidnap a _Jedi Master?_" Gallia shook her head with convicted disbelief. "That's absolutely insane."

"Either way," Mace cut in. "We don't know what happened and we have no evidence other than a missing assassin and the witness account of a sleep-depraved Padawan. For the time being, we need to focus on Skywalker. Master Kenobi is more than capable of taking care of himself. Senator Amidala however, is not a trained warrior."

The other eleven Masters nodded in unified agreement. Which wasn't really that surprising. When it came down to it, Anakin Skywalker usually presented the biggest problem, no matter the situation. He had been a thorn in their collective sides throughout the duration of his Padawan years, and that had been _before _he had three years of extensive Sith training under his belt.

Now he was a nightmare and an intergalactic incident waiting to happen. They had to get him back at all costs, then Mace would suggest exile on the most remote planet they could possibly find—forget the idea of keeping your friends close and the your enemies closer.

But one thing at a time.

Leveling his fellow Council Members with an even stare, the Korun Master began without preamble. "I have an idea."

* * *

Padmé winced as she battled the intolerable amount of tangles in her hair with the hairbrush Skywalker had so kindly shoved in her face fifteen minutes prior. How he had acquired the hairbrush with no credits she didn't particularly want to know. It had probably involved something in violation of several Galactic laws, such as thievery or inappropriate use of the Force—though that was usually considered more of a principle than a law. Skywalker seemed prone to those kind of tendencies, which made him the strangest, most infuriating Jedi she had ever met.

This led her to the nonsensical, but unavoidable fact that she had _agreed _to stay with him on this strange planet in the middle of the Outer Rim—agreed to trust him, agreed to follow his demands, thus ignoring her duties as a member of the Galactic Senate.

What in the name of the goddesses had she been thinking?

Sighing, the senator lowering her hairbrush and splashed her face with some water from the 'fresher sink, mulling over the events of the past twenty-four hours—particularly the turning point that had unexpectedly waylaid her at the spaceport.

Maybe it had been the way he'd said it—with so much uncharacteristic desperation. She had seen no lie in his eyes. He had honestly believed, with every fiber of his being, that she would die a tragic and untimely death if she returned to Coruscant. Normally, she would write this off as the worried, over protective inclinations of a bodyguard, but unusual or not Skywalker was still a Jedi, and over the course of her years spent in proximity to the them she had learned that Jedi intuition was not something to be laughed off.

Or maybe it was that, for a brief instant, he had actually seemed to care about her continued safety and well-being. In that second when he had grabbed her arm, she had seen so much humanity and vulnerability and shadow on his face it had paralyzed her.

Somehow, she doubted Jedi were ever supposed to look at someone like that.

Pulling her hair up into a messy bun, Dormé would have had a fit over, Padmé took a deep breath to compose herself, staving off troubled thoughts of Dormé and if she had fallen into hysterics upon the discovery that her honored senator was missing. Dormé would be fine in time and Jar Jar was mostly capable enough to handle her duties in her absence.

She still grimaced at the thought.

At least he could be trusted to represent Naboo's views and principles on the Military Creation Act when the voting procedure began, though she fully intended to be back on Coruscant before then. Contrary to Knight Skywalker's supposed belief, they could not hide out in the Outer Rim forever.

She would not allow them to. They were both needed on Coruscant. Skywalker, for all his brashness and insufferableness, was the hero of the Order—the slayer of the terrifying masked monstrosity that had called itself Darth Vader—and if it did come to war, he would be needed to rally the confidence of the Republic. In turn, she would be expected to play the role she had assumed for herself upon her arrival on Coruscant: the voice of reason and peace in a body full of greedy nexus.

No, they _had _to go back eventually, threat or no threat, but for now—for the sake of Skywalker's desperation and unexpected concern—she would work to maintain their unsteady truce.

Which shouldn't present too much difficulty. After all, she had been bred and raised and trained for diplomacy. She had settled conflicts all across the Galaxy and even averted several interplanetary wars.

How much of a problem could a single, if slightly exasperating, Jedi Knight be?

* * *

**EXTRA NOTES: **

The Dream: Writing dream sequences is fun. Really fun. I love symbolism. Fear not, the dream and the girl in it has a deep meaning in the story, which will unfold. Soon.

The Jedi Council: Ugh. It was painful trying to give them all the personalities and make them all seem different. I read each of their scant profiles on the Stars Wars wiki and watched the limited footage of the Council meetings, during which they all berate Obi-Wan and Anakin instead of really talking to each other. Hopefully their dialogue is believable and not boring.

Anakin and Padme: I'm trying with these two, I really am. I hope their dialogue is also believable. Things are kind of awkward right now, but their dynamic will get better. I promise.

Obi-Wan: I feel really bad for him. Seriously bad. This story isn't going to be easy on him at all. Sorry, Obi-Wan. You're one of my favorite characters, I swear.


	9. Dejarik

**Hello, dear readers. I apologize for the obscene amount of time it has taken me to update. Real life got insanely busy and then Word decided to eat several chapters of this story. All you writers out there probably know how hard it can be to go back and rewrite so much material, which is what I've been struggling with for the past several months. Losing large amounts of work is always a real blow to my motivation. I'm still trying to make up the lost chapters, so updates will be slow, but I haven't given up on this story yet.**

**Thank you all for your patience. **

* * *

Luminara Unduli had rarely seen the Council so serious. As she and Barriss stood at the center of the circular chamber, she could feel the tension weighing heavy in the air. The solemnity was suffocating in a way she hadn't experienced since the brief, terrifying rise of Darth Vader, and in the eyes of every Master she saw the same grim determination she had witnessed then.

She could only hope they were not about to announce the emergence of another Sith Lord.

"A serious matter has come to our attention," Master Windu began without the usual greetings. Beside her, Luminara felt Barriss straighten, worry trickling through their bond threaded with fear at the return of Darth Vader or another Sith.

She chose not to admonish her Padawan for she shared the same deep-rooted fears and hypocrisy was not the way of the Jedi. "What is the matter, Masters?" She copied Mace Windu's bluntness, hoping for a swift end to the mounting uncertainty.

"Anakin Skywalker has disappeared, taking Senator Amidala—whom he was supposed to be protecting—with him." Ki-Adi Mundi looked troubled, in spite of the calm infused into his voice and words.

Luminara sucked in a sharp breath while a spike of surprise and confusion tumbled along the bond from Barriss. Her Padawan, of course, could not comprehend the severity of such a simple statement. To Barriss, Anakin was merely a reckless Knight, who had once been a reckless Padawan, and in spite of this flaw had somehow managed to achieve hero status for killing Darth Vader. This was an ignorant viewpoint, but one Luminara wished to remain intact, for Barriss's sake as well as Anakin Skywalker's and the continued structure of the Jedi.

If the Knights and Padawans were to learn the truth of Anakin Skywalker it might tear the Order apart.

"Barriss, would you kindly wait outside?" she instructed crisply. Barriss glanced at her with puzzlement and suspicion, but obeyed with a short bow, sweeping out of the room and leaving Luminara to face her fellow Masters alone.

"You think he has turned again?" Luminara asked as soon as the door closed behind the Barriss.

The Masters glanced at each other hesitantly, saying nothing, but in their silence lay the answer Luminara was seeking. "I see," she murmured grimly.

"We are not jumping to conclusions yet," Shaak Ti insisted, but Luminara heard what wasn't being said. The Council may not have been jumping to conclusions about Skywalker, but they were preparing for the worse case scenario, nonetheless.

"Master Kenobi and an assassin we recently captured also disappeared some time last night. We don't know if Skywalker was connected to this, though it appears doubtful at the moment," Saesee Tiin interjected, moving the conversation away from discussions of Skywalker's loyalty, much to Luminara's relief. Once started, arguments about Anakin Skywalker tended to carry on in endless and circular fashion. "Either way, Skywalker and the senator are our first priority."

Justifiably so, Luminara thought, but refrained from voicing her opinion. Having witnessed firsthand the destructive power of Darth Vader, she understood all too well the Council's desire for the utmost caution. Anakin Skywalker was a ticking thermal detonator that never should have been allowed back into the Order.

"We are placing you and Padawan Offee in charge of locating Skywalker and bringing him back to Coruscant for questioning. Once you have found him, you will also be charged with the continued protection of Senator Amidala. We will focus on discovering the whereabouts of Master Kenobi and the assassin." Mace's dark eyes penetrated her, assessing, and she stood firm beneath his calculating gaze, confident in her ability to apprehend Skywalker.

The supposed Chosen One was many things, but he was not invincible. "I accept this mission, Masters. Barriss and I shall leave immediately. Do you have an initial direction to point us in?"

"We believe Skywalker headed for the Outer Rim. It is an area he frequented during his years as Vader and he is skilled at blending in amongst its … less than upstanding citizens." The undercurrent of distaste was easy to hear in Oppo Rancisis's voice as the Thisspiasian Master entered the discussion for the first time.

Luminara accepted his advice with a polite nod. His disdain for Kenobi's Padawan dated back to when Skywalker had first been accepted into the Order, and had only grown as the years passed and Skywalker seemed determined to break as many Jedi traditions as possible. While Luminara did not share the depth of Master Rancisis's conviction, she couldn't help but agree with him on several points. Perhaps if the Council had not been so lenient with Skywalker during his training years, they would not be currently facing such catastrophe.

"Very well." She bowed respectfully. "We will begin our search and report back to you as soon as we have obtained any answers, Masters."

"May the Force be with you," Mace offered the customary parting as Luminara exited the Council chamber without a backward glance.

Outside, Barriss stood waiting, anxiety radiating off her in waves. Luminara paused and took a moment to collect herself, reaching for the Force to soothe the worry and doubt churning through her.

"What's wrong, Master?" Barriss asked, hurrying to her side. Apparently she had failed to mask her turbulent state fast enough.

Opening her eyes, she gave her Padawan a tight smile. "Nothing, Barriss. The Council just wants us to reign in Knight Skywalker again. Apparently, this stunt has tested the Council's patience too much and they wish for him to be brought back to Coruscant for questioning and examination." All of which was true, from a certain point of view, though that felt a little too much like pointless justification so Luminara shoved it aside.

Barriss hardly seemed to buy her story, but fortunately didn't push the issue. "Will they expel him?"

Luminara headed toward the turbolifts that would return her to the ground level of the Temple, already running through future steps and strategies in her head.

"I don't know, Barriss," she murmured as they entered the lift.

And that, at least, was nothing but the truth.

* * *

Clawing his way back to consciousness was one of the most difficult feats Jango had ever accomplished, equaling past exploits such as escaping slavery and defeating the rouge Jedi Komari Vosa. It felt like someone had stabbed his brain repeatedly with a vibroblade and now a star destroyer on full thruster power had taken up residence behind his eyes.

Coughing, the Mandalorian rolled over, pressing his masked face into the dirt and sucking in uneven breaths through his nose. The spider-web crack in the corner of his visor made vision difficult, but he didn't have to see to be able to discern what had happened. The crackle of nearby flames and the smell of burning durasteel and wires were clues enough, even if his memory was a little foggy.

He ignored the star destroyer and the other aches and pains running through his body as he closed his eyes and tried to remember exactly what course of events had led him to his current spot in the dirt. The Jedi had escaped somehow—a stupid mistake on his part, failing to properly secure the man, and one that would _not _be repeated—and stormed the cockpit, they'd gone into hyperspace too early and come out by a star, which had damaged the ship, resulting in a crash landing on the surface of a nearby planet. He vaguely recalled trees and sky and a cliff and Zam screaming before he'd fallen unconscious, the Jedi standing over him…

Jango's eyes flew open. The Jedi! The _Jedi _had brained him with a piece of wreckage right after taking back his lightsaber. Growling under his breath in Mando'a, the bounty hunter levered himself to his hands and knees and then up into a standing position, in spite of his body's protests—he was a Mandalorian, a warrior born and trained, and a little pain could be handled easily. His eyes narrowed as he saw the smoking ruin of _Slave I_ all around him through his cracked and soot-streaked visor.

Oh that Jedi _di'kut _was going to _pay. _He didn't care if the man was needed alive in order for him to get paid, more satisfaction would come from wringing his arrogant Jedi neck until he stopped breathing.

Still infuriated, Jango took a step forward and froze immediately as agony coursed through his body, punching a gasp free from his lips. Glancing down, he frowned when he saw shards of transparisteel jutting out from unprotected patches of his armor. Well, first things first, he supposed as he carefully sank back to the ground and reached for the first of the large shards.

He wouldn't be able to exact justice on the Jedi if he couldn't walk.

It was several long minutes of dull agony before Jango dropped the last of the shards into the dirt beside him, surveying his now red-stained jumpsuit. Beyond the transparisteel and a badly sprained wrist he was in decent condition since the armor had thankfully absorbed most of the damage from the crash and the following Jedi attack. Providing the wounds from the transparisteel didn't bleed too heavily, he wouldn't be hindered too much—shooting with just his left hand was a minor inconvenience, nothing more.

Standing jerkily, the Mandalorian continued on his previous course toward the wreckage, intent on discovering Zam's fate. Hopefully, the Clawdite was still alive. It would be a shame if he had spent all that time and effort rescuing her only to have her die on him on some backwater planet at the edge of the Galaxy.

_Slave I _was lying almost on her side—part of the cockpit crushed up against the dirt—and as he got closer he noticed that a nasty cropping of rocks had nearly sheared her in half. He grimaced beneath the helmet, knowing instantly that little to nothing would be salvageable from the rare _Firespray-31-_class.

Maybe strangulation was too quick a death for the di'kutla Jedi.

Jango paused in front of the shattered viewport and struggled to see inside, searching for signs of Zam. If his crash webbing had broken, there was no guarantee hers hadn't, as well, and she was still in her seat. Well, thermal scanners were invented for a reason.

Slightly amazed that all the operating systems on his HUD were still functioning properly, Jango ran a quick thermal scan on the cockpit and picked up a mass of warmth curled up in the far corner—half crushed by one of the chairs that had been ripped loose.

Cursing under his breath at Zam for choosing the most inconvenient spot in the cockpit to fall unconscious, he bent and crawled into the cockpit, hauling himself carefully over the still-sparking console and dropping to the floor in an undignified heap. Fortunately Zam was out cold or she would have laughed him into next year.

The angle of the ship forced him to fight his way upward along the sloped floor, using the bulkhead to pull himself along, until he could kneel in front of Zam. The chair was keeping her wedged in her unnatural position—the broken end embedded in the smoldering bulkhead.

Coughing from the smoke lying thick in the air and all-too-aware of the rising heat from the fires, Jango grasped the end of the chair with both hands and _pulled. _The motion tugged painfully on his wounds but he refused to let up until he heard a deafening screech and the chair came free in one sudden jerk. Thrown momentarily off-balance, the bounty hunter lost his precarious footing and slid down toward the console—Zam tumbling after him.

His back connected none too gently, but he managed to lift his arms and catch Zam before she slammed into his chest. Shifting her limp form into a more practical position, he hurriedly checked her pulse.

Still there. Weak and faint and erratic, but still there, and if he let out a soft sigh of relief who was to know?

* * *

It was sunrise on Coruscant.

From the shelter and silence of his office, the most powerful man in the galaxy watched the light gleam off the buildings with unappreciative eyes. Far below him, lesser, _ignorant _beings scurried about their daily lives like ants, congesting traffic lanes and walkways, shouting nosily back and forth to each other in hundreds of languages.

For all its magnificence there was little _refined _about Coruscant. The once noble city had been overrun with chaotic hordes from all reaches of the Galaxy, turning into the jumbled mess playing out beneath him.

Soon, that would change. _He _would change it.

But for now, more pressing issues were demanding his attention, brought to him by members of the recently departed Jedi Council. According to the idiots who dared to call themselves wielders of the Force, Anakin Skywalker—the _Chosen One_—had gone missing for the second time in four years, dragging Senator Amidala with him into the far flung reaches of the Outer Rim. The very fact that the Jedi had once again failed to protect and contain the most powerful member of their Order—the key to every plan he had so painstakingly laid—angered him so deeply it had been a struggle to keep from killing them where they sat in the chairs before his desk, pleading for his help like groveling toads.

He focused on the anger. It was a much more desirable and practical than the panic that was pressing insistent fingers along the edges of his composure.

The Chosen One was missing again—vanished into the night like before—and he could only hope that the consequences would not be as dire as they had been four years ago.

Back then, he had watched several of his carefully crafted plans and manipulations collapse at his feet and shatter like fragile glass. Anakin Skywalker had upset the balance and order of the world he had been so meticulously and patiently molding by slipping out of the Temple in the dead of night with only his severed Padawan braid from his recent Knighting ceremony as a parting gift. Then, as the Council scrambled to recover the errant Knight, Darth Vader had risen from the shadows like a vengeful ghost, striking at senators and Jedi alike with vicious precision.

He was loathe to admit that the other Sith's presence had blindsided him, if only momentarily. Somewhere during the long and grueling years of his apprenticeship, his pathetic Master had broken the Rule of Two in his paranoia and decades later the ultimate product of his decision—most likely trained by his secret apprentice—decided to unleash holy terror on the Galaxy.

He had felt his plans crumbling when Senators and Jedi alike went on high alert, once again aware of the levels of destruction the Sith were capable of. The Jedi became heroes as they fought to stop Darth Vader, restored to their lofty position as peacekeepers by a grateful Senate, and in retaliation he had been forced to stall his plans—the coming war—and send his apprentice after this Darth Vader.

Then Skywalker had returned like a blazing hero, joining Kenobi on the search for Vader, and eventually killing the monstrosity in the Sith training grounds of Mustafar—receiving horrible wounds that required almost a year of recovery in the battle. The Council had insisted that Skywalker had never been truly missing—merely sent on a long term mission—and they had asked him to engage Vader—but he suspected otherwise.

Something, most likely his final, disastrous mission as a Padawan, had forced Skywalker to flee from the shelter of the Order, and the boy's ingrained hero complex had brought him back to fight Vader. And somewhere in those four lost years—during which all his admittedly frantic searching had been futile—Skywalker had _changed. _

Irreversibly changed.

The boy no longer sought his counsel—avoided the Senate and all those related to it with an unprecedented fervor—or his friendship. Since stepping back onto Coruscant, Skywalker had refused to even speak with him, ignoring numerous calls, and he could sense_ years _of careful manipulation withering away to dust. When he had gotten a glimpse of the Knight during one of his trips to the Senate with Senator Amidala, he had noticed the new shadows and steel in the boy's eyes; the subdued, weary way he carried himself—devoid of the pride and strength permeating his usual gait.

Yes, something was different about Skywalker, and his plans were still crumbling and shattering—fragile beyond how he had believed them to be. He had believed Skywalker would remain on Coruscant for quite some time, under the watchful eyes of the Jedi Council, and safe within his reach—he had wrapped the pathetic boy, so easily manipulated, around his finger once and so could do it again.

But then Skywalker went and disappeared _again, _unintentionally destroying all of his plans _again. _That simply wouldn't do.

With a quiet snarl, Supreme Chancellor Palpatine turned away from his expansive windows and the brilliant light of the Coruscanti morning. Once he reached his desk, he jabbed a thumb on the communication console and ordered a speeder from the spluttering aid who knew better than to ask questions.

It was time for drastic measures.

* * *

"You should eat." Padmé looked up from the tray in front of her to the Jedi lurking in the corner of their dismal room, leaning against the wall with such casual ease it almost seemed like he was an extension of it. But the posture did little to mask the tension thrumming in his eyes and jaw line or the subtle way his fingers flexed against his forearms.

"Where did you get the food?" She bit out, deciding to ignore how on edge he seemed to be—and on the edge of _what_, exactly—in favor of catching him off-balance, because there was a lot of food in front of her and as far as she knew, they had no credits or other form of currency to purchase it with.

He gave her what was rapidly becoming a trademark half-smile that did nothing to reassure or banish some of the shadows from his eyes. "You really don't want to know, milady."

"Illegally, then." She pinned with a disapproving stare, but he merely shrugged, looking so nonchalant she almost wanted to hit him.

"It's the Outer Rim, senator. At least ninety percent of all business conducted out here is illegal. You're going to have to get used to it. We needed food. That's the important thing."

She wasn't going to win this battle, she could tell, and she was a little tired of fighting, and hungry beyond belief, so with a small sigh, she picked up her fork and dug into the meal. After several mouthfuls, she realized Skywalker hadn't moved from his position on the wall.

"You need to eat, too," she declared, leveling her fork at him.

Half smile again. "I'm not hungry."

She frowned, uncertain for whether to buy the line or not. In the end, it hardly mattered. Like it or not, she was depending on him for at least some degree of protection, and that would be useless if he got sick or passed out on her because he wasn't taking care of himself.

"Eat," she ordered, pointing at the food and shoving the second fork across the bedspread in his direction. "No arguments."

He shook his head, but nevertheless detached from the wall and sank carefully onto the bed across from her, picking up the fork in his gloved hand. "Obi-Wan was right when he said you were stubborn."

She spared a moment for a satisfied smirk before returning to the meal. "I prefer determined."

Yet another half-smile. It seemed to be all he was capable of, and she couldn't help but wonder who had chased the light out of his life. Maybe…

"Was it hard?" It came out before she could stop herself, but the curiosity had been eating slowly and steadily at her since their first meeting. In fact, since she had first seen the Holo message about his return to Coruscant and his role in the decisive, final fight against Vader.

His eyes slid away from hers quickly and he shifted on the bed in a feeble effort to hide his discomfort. "Was what hard?"

"Fighting Vader," she elaborated, unwilling to let him escape once she had witnessed his half-hearted dodge.

He grimaced, tension pulsing along his shoulders and down his spine, stiffening him, and his fingers closed more tightly around the fork in his hand, still full of food. "I'd rather not talk about it."

Padmé glanced down, a little wary of the edge in his voice. "I can understand that, I suppose," she murmured. "It must have been hard."

He still refused to meet her eyes, staring at the plate between them with almost frighteningly intense fascination. "It was." His voice was strained, cracking, and the fork gave a small creak beneath the force of his grip.

"I met him once, you know." It slipped past her guard into open air before she stop it, emboldened by the emotion of the moment, the promise of someone who might finally understand.

Skywalker's eyes jerked up to hers at last and there was so much raw horror in his gaze that she was taken aback—almost physically leaning away from him in shock. She had never seen such emotion bottled into a single look. "Really?" It was little more than a breath of air, and the fork clattered forgotten to the plate.

She let loose a short, almost wild laugh. "Well, I didn't _meet _him exactly. He attacked my diplomatic convoy in the Mid Rim. I managed to hide. Some of my fellow weren't as lucky, including my mentor." She shuddered, remembering the billowing black cloak and hood, the blood-red blade and the screams of her comrades and advisors renting the air in two. "That mask was so terrible. Like a skull. I wondered if there was anything human under it at all."

"I'm so sorry," Skywalker whispered and it was raw and rough, like he was holding back tears. She finally met his eyes again and had the air knocked from her lungs at the pain and sorrow staring back at her. It wasn't as wild and intense as the horror, but deep, almost endless.

She didn't understand. He was looking at her like it was _his _fault, somehow.

"You have nothing to be sorry for." In a bold, uncharacteristic move, she reached across the long-forgotten and now cold plate of food to place a careful hand on his arm—and was that a flinch she felt under her fingers? "After all, it was you who put an end to the whole mess. I should be thanking you, I suppose."

He didn't look comforted and his smile seemed barely cobbled together. "Well, it was mostly Obi-Wan. He's the real hero."

She nodded and sensed that was the end of it for now, withdrawing her hand. This was getting to personal, too emotional, for her liking, anyway. "Maybe."

A tense, awkward silence followed, full of unspoken questions. Skywalker finally picked up his fork again, and shoveled food into his mouth, though the action was jerky, almost forced—a desperate bid for a return to normality. He grimaced as he chewed, swallowing with difficulty. "It's cold."

"Is there any way to heat it up? Most rooms come equipped…" She glanced around in search of something, anything, but found only bare walls.

"Welcome to the Outer Rim," Skywalker replied in a strange combination of bitterness and amusement, waving the fork for dramatic effect.

She almost laughed at the sight, but she was tired and hungry and stripped a little raw by the emphatic Jedi across from her, and laughter would have been too much to handle.

"Wonderful," she bit back, packing enough sarcasm into the single word that it spilled over and oozed into the air between them.

Skywalker shrugged, and returned to eating. Deciding she had nothing left to lose, and was not about to be beaten by cold food, Padmé followed suit. There was more silence, less awkward now, as they focused on forcing as much food as possible into their empty stomachs. When, by some miracle, the plate was clean, Skywalker set down his fork and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. In the neon light of the dingy room, the rings under his eyes looked almost black.

"What's the plan?" She asked, wanting a distraction from how pale and exhausted he seemed. "We can't stay here forever."

Skywalker sighed, dropping his hand to his lap. "No. This place is the center of several major trade routes. It's too easy for someone to follow us here. We need to move."

"And how do you propose we do this?"

"Same way we got here," he replied with his half-smile.

"By hopping on a cargo freighter again?" She barely managed to mask her dismay at his idiotic plan. First, it was illegal and getting caught could ruin her upstanding reputation in the Galactic Senate, and second, cargo freighters were cold and dark and she hated them.

"Yeah." Skywalker did not seem to share her concerns. "Hiring or buying a ship is too traceable."

"We won't even know where we're going!" She protested just a little shy of desperate. Tomorrow morning, she would be on a cargo freighter, because Skywalker had a frustrating tendency of getting his way, in spite of her resolution to the contrary.

Another careless lift of his shoulders. "If we don't know where we're going, how is anyone else going to follow us?"

She wanted to argue, but the twisted logic in the statement made unavoidable sense.

* * *

As he lowered himself as regally as possible to the floor of his ship, a blue hologram flickered to life in front of him—blue particles forming into the Shadow he had pledged his life to.

"Master," he murmured, and it was still a little strange to let the word fall past his lips when it had been his title for so many decades. But he had forsaken that, and everything associated with the decrepit Jedi Order, and he could learn to adjust.

"The Bounty Hunter Fett has failed us," Sidious began without greeting, and the hard edge in his voice revealed his simmering anger. Dooku held his tongue, understanding his opinion was not currently wanted. "Jedi Knight Skywalker has fled Coruscant with the Senator. Find someone who can bring him back and correct Fett's failure."

"Of course, Master," Dooku agreed with a dip of his head. Quietly, he made a mental note to punish Fett for making him appear incompetent in front of his master, and failing such a pathetically simple task as assassinating a senator. "It shall be done immediately."

"Good," Sidious all but snapped. "I will not have Skywalker disrupt my plan a second time. Keep me informed of the progress. And see to it that you make a better choice this time." The hologram winked out of his existence before he could nod and without the usual inquires into the progress of the droid foundries and the gathering of Separatist puppets and allies. Angry, Sidious was indeed.

With a weary, and slightly nervous sigh, Dooku rose to his feet, ignoring the slight aches and pains that reminded him of his increasing age. They were weak and therefore did not matter. He had already appeared weak enough in front of his master—a fact he would be remedying soon, and that Fett would be paying dearly for as soon as he resurfaced. Perhaps the man had finally outlived his usefulness.

Currently, however, he had a task to complete, and an intergalactic transmission to send to a particular assassin who would not be burdened by Fett's obtuse code of honor.

Straightening his shoulders, the Sith Lord began to punch a code into his holonet transmitter.

* * *

The Universe hated him. Absolutely, positively _loathed _him.

It was the only explanation for his current situation—and just _how _he managed to get himself into such a predicament was more than a little blurry. Anakin would _never _hear of this, even if he had to die to keep the secret safe. His former Padawan would laugh for months if he learned that his esteemed Master—a candidate for the Jedi High Council—had been ambushed and overcome by a handful of filthy pirates wielding blasters which had probably gone out of style before _Yoda _was born.

In his defense, he was wounded and suffering from a possibly severe concussion, but he had dealt with much worse in the past and come out alive, unscathed, and without capture. There really was no excuse for this that would hold up in front of the Council.

With a grimace, Obi-Wan tested his bonds for the thousandth time and only succeeded in further chafing his wrists. In the distance he could hear the pirates arguing amongst themselves rather heatedly. Their voices ran together in a disorienting blur, but he could make out a few Huttese words and briefly regretted not learning more of the language from Anakin than curses. Though, really, the context hardly mattered. From the manner in which they treated him upon first contact, it was painfully clear that they didn't like him. He might go as far to say they hated him.

Why, however, he couldn't fathom. It wasn't as though he had ever done them any harm.

Sighing, the Jedi carefully lowered his head back to the cold, rough floor. A stone dug into his cheek through the bag tied securely over his head. The cuffs were tight and laced with some kind of charge that sparked painfully through his arms if he tampered with them too much. The pirates may not have been very impressive in areas of personal hygiene and conduct, but they were smart—unfortunately.

Still, he would rather not just lie around and wait for them to finish fighting. Then they would have time to decide what to do with him, which probably wouldn't work out in his favor no matter their decision. Digging his shoulder into the dirt, he managed to gain enough leverage to push himself up into a sitting position. His injuries loudly reminded him of their presence, but he ignored them.

Twisting so that his bound legs were in a little more comfortable position, he struggled to get his hazy mind into focus. He drowned out the voices, the pain, the lingering worry over Anakin and how he was going to get himself off this rock, and fell into the Force, allowing it to wash over him in a soothing wave. After a few moments, he felt everything focus and sharpen, like puzzle pieces falling into place and suddenly he could _see. _He stretched out his mind carefully, probing along the cuffs in search of the locking mechanism.

He was just closing mental fingers around it, ready to twist, when footsteps thundered against his concentration, and as everything began to splinter a meaty hand fisted into the front of his dirty tunic and hauled him several inches off the floor, shattering his focus completely.

The pirate was yelling at him in Huttese and simultaneously shaking him hard enough to knock his teeth together painfully. It made concentrating on the words very difficult, but Obi-Wan was able to make out "Jedi" along with several colorful curses he had heard Anakin mutter under his breath on occasion when getting out of whatever situation they had found themselves was going to be almost impossible.

Apparently the pirate didn't like escape attempts. Shocking.

When the towering being had slowed down enough to let Obi-Wan get in word of edgewise, he spoke up through the heavy fabric of the bag and ringing teeth. "I don't speak Huttese."

There was a long pause before he was dropped back into the dirt and then kicked in the side for good measure. The air left his lungs in an agonizing rush as fire erupted underneath his skin, just over his ribs, and he instinctively folded in on himself and locked his teeth to manage the pain. The pirate lumbered away, muttering under his breath, and Obi-Wan was almost positive he heard "Jedi" again, along with more curses, and possibly "revenge" or "die"—the words were ironically similar.

Either way, it was several levels of Not Good.

Sighing again, the Jedi closed his eyes and tried to steady himself, briefly wondering how the Bounty Hunter Fett was making out. Probably much better—after all, the Universe hated him.


End file.
